


One Tiny Stone for a Giant Wave

by Oliviax19



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anya has a soft spot for their cubs, Badass Clarke Griffin, Badass Lexa, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa is a touch deprived mess, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Original Character(s), Panther Companions, Political Alliances, Protective Lexa, Romance, Slow Burn, The gays live on, Wanheda Clarke Griffin, no A.L.I.E
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliviax19/pseuds/Oliviax19
Summary: Following her actions at Mount Weather, Clarke leaves her people to wander through the trees, broken and anguished. After waking up from a harrowing nightmare, she's ready to end it all. But what happens when someone with experience on the pains of the past finds her? Someone who listens and helps Clarke find herself again?Elsewhere, the Coalition is as fragile as ever. Everyone is looking for Wanheda, but none more than the Commander herself.Will they find their way back to each other?
Relationships: Anya & Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Lexa & Nightbloods (The 100)
Comments: 222
Kudos: 418





	1. Much too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is my first time writing for the fandom, I only discovered and fell in love with clexa last summer... but better late than never. I have only watched the first three seasons, and it's mostly canon to the end of season two, except for Anya's death.
> 
> **This is a slow burn, like really slow, and I wanted to explore Clarke's dynamic with other characters, as well as grounder culture. This is and will always be a clexa story, but if you're here for a fic that solely focuses on them with each other and not with others in the mix, then it's probably not for you. You've been warned!
> 
> **Trigger Warning** Thoughts of suicide towards the end

Clarke isn’t sure how long she has been walking. It could have been hours, days, or even _weeks_ for all she is aware of. A low burn has ignited in her knees, and her feet are positively aching. She welcomes it.

There’s a knot in her chest which keeps coiling tighter and tighter with every step she takes. She knows what she has to do to stop it from suffocating her. She knows she has to deal with the past twenty-four hours. To let the grief, the anger and the utter anguish flow through her.

And yet, the numbness that has settled over her mind like a blanket covering a lightbulb ultimately keeps her feet moving. She doesn’t want to let go of that. Not until she’s far enough to be sure no one from Camp Jaha will be able to follow her. Maybe not ever.

A deep rumble erupts from Clarke’s stomach, reminding her she has eaten nothing since before the march to the mountain. And yet, she grits her teeth and keeps pressing one foot in front of the other, unwilling to stop. 

Not to find food.

Not to find shelter.

Not even to find water.

_I don’t deserve those things._

Plus, Clarke is sure that once she stops walking, the plug keeping her mind muted will be pulled, and there won’t be any going back from that. Clarke swallows harshly, her throat parched at the lack of moisture.

_At least it can’t break me. I’m already broken._

The hours continue melting into each other, and eventually, Clarke registers the blackness that has settled over the earlier blue sky, and she estimates that she’s been walking for a minimum of twelve hours. Clarke continues to ignore the exhaustion pervading each of her limbs and the painful clenching of her stomach. Instead, she balls her hands into fists and wills herself to keep going. She can’t help but cling onto the hope that maybe, if she walks far enough, her demons won’t catch up to her.

It doesn’t take much longer until Clarke’s knees wobble and give out, unable to support her weight any longer. She drops roughly, making no effort to soften the blow. From there, her emotions finally claw their way through the numbness that had consumed her.

A violent sob rips out of Clarke’s throat as hot tears trail down her cheeks. Her entire body trembles, and her breaths come as short, shaky gasps. Clarke surrenders herself to it, there’s no point in doing otherwise. Trying to contain it would be like placing a pebble before the tide and hoping that it will hold it back.

_What have I done?_

Clarke’s shoulders sag through a wave of dizziness, and it drags her down until she curls herself into a foetal position. Her emotions pass through her in waves, each one leaving her more breathless than the next. By now, she’s shaking so uncontrollably that she’d probably give herself a black eye if she tried wiping at the steady stream of tears flowing across her face. She wishes she could drown in them.

The horrors which drove her away from Camp Jaha come back to her as a series of vivid images.

Raven’s screams as the Mountain Men drill into her bones.

Bellamy’s expression after she put a bullet in Dante’s chest while making his son listen.

Monty’s hopelessness when he showed her the lever.

The football she saw when she stepped into the dining hall, the same ball she had seen children play with when she was trapped there. Children who had their lives taken because she valued her people’s lives over theirs.

The blisters and burns that formed on unknowing, innocent people whom Clarke subjected to a painful and gruesome death. People that had nothing to do with Cage’s decisions.

Jasper’s desperation and heartbreak as he held Maya, a girl who sacrificed herself over and over again. A girl who _deserved_ to live.

It’s too much. Clarke shuts her eyes and brings her hands to her head, fingers curling tightly in her hair, as if she could turn off the images that flash so clearly in her mind. Somehow, Clarke slumps even further into herself, her sobs echoing in the otherwise silent forest.

The overwhelming sense of failure hits her next. She had vied _so_ hard with the Grounders to agree to a rescue mission rather than an all-out slaughter. It could have worked, _would_ have worked. She had trusted them.

_No. I trusted Lexa._

A wave of nausea overwhelmes her at the thought of the Commander; the catalyst to her agony. The blood and dirt that caked her skin and the hard set of her jaw acting as a paradoxical contrast to the tender and vulnerable girl that had kissed her merely hours beforehand. There’s nothing in her system to throw-up, but the sharp taste of acid at the back of her throat has her shuddering just the same.

Clarke trusted Lexa, a mistake that forced her to single-handedly murder over 300 innocent people.

If her body wasn’t paralysed in its position, Clarke would gladly slam her head against a tree. Was it all a lie? Was she merely a pawn in a twisted war strategy? Her people shut down the acid fog. Her people exploded the turbines and blew that door open. What did the Commander do in return?

_I should have known better._

Clarke’s mind flashes to her conversation with Octavia before going into the mountain, and each word exchanged feels like a further blow to her chest.

_“Everyone is always counting on you!”_

_“Well, what do you want from me?” Clarke yells back, tears of desperation threatening to spill from eyes._

_“You trusted Lexa. You let a bomb drop on TonDC. You let all of those people-” Octavia continues mercilessly with a cutting revulsion in her eyes._

_Clarke’s nostrils flare, her body shaking when she shouts, “I am doing the best I can!”_

_“Yeah, well that’s not good enough.”_

Not good enough.

_I failed._

_People are dead because of me._

These words repeat in Clarke’s head like a mantra, an endless loop. _There’s no escaping what I’ve done._ Panic seizes her being, and her breathing becomes so frantic that she barely manages to rasp out “I’m _so_ sorry” before succumbing to the pull of darkness that her hyperventilation caused.

* * *

Clarke wanders through an eerily familiar corridor on the Ark. Cold seeps into her bones and she shivers when her breath turns to icy clouds before her. She doesn’t remember it ever being this cool.

Clarke looks around and tilts her head in confusion, “What am I doing here?”

“I think you know, kiddo,” A familiar voice says from the end of the corridor.

“Dad?” Clarke croaks with a crack in her voice. She can’t help the warmth that blooms in her chest, she just misses her father _so_ much. She knows he would revel in the life, the colours and the scents on the ground. Whenever she sees something new, she wishes nothing more than to share in the joy and purity of it with him, and it hurts every time she realises she can’t.

She runs towards him, but before she can throw her arms around his shoulders, he turns and starts walking down a corridor to the left.

Clarke stares at his retreating figure, trepidation sinking into her voice, “Dad? What is this? Where are we going?”

Her footsteps echo in the abandoned corridor until she is walking by his side. She scans his face, looking for any hint to why they are there, and Clarke realises that his features are more hardened than they ever were. There had always been a distinct twinkle in his eyes, one that speaks of the love and care that only a father can give… It’s missing.

“You don’t remember this particular part of the Ark?” He asks, his voice lacking any of its usual warmth.

Clarke is about to tell him she doesn’t, but suddenly, it hits her. She gasps and stops, not wanting to take one more step.

The last time she was going in this direction was the day Jaha floated her father. She remembers kicking the guard that was holding her back after they arrested him and running frantically towards the airlock where she knew they were taking him. Clarke had known it would traumatise her to see her father being floated, but she just had to be there. She had to tell him she loved him one last time.

He pauses when she is no longer keeping up with him, and he turns to pierce her with a dark look. “It’s time, Clarke. You have to pay for your crimes against your own people before answering to the others. You weren’t there to save Wells. The riot you started had John Murphy falsely hanged. You were part of the reason why Charlotte jumped off that cliff. You killed Finn. You let a bomb fall on Octavia and Kane. You-“

“Stop!” Clarke shouts, familiar with the way her chest tightens further with each accusation. “Please, stop it,” she continues in defeat. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I never meant for any of that to happen.” Clarke finishes while a fresh round of tears slide down her cheeks.

“And yet, it did.”

Clarke’s soul feels like it’s being shredded to pieces. The disgust in his eyes is too much to handle. Her fists are clenched so tightly, she’s sure that blood is trickling out of crescent-shaped cuts.

A small part of her knows that she must be dreaming. Her father is dead, and she thinks that he would never blame her for the things she has done since coming to the ground. _Or would he?_

Clarke closes her eyes and takes a strained breath. After opening them again, the scene has changed slightly.

When she realises where she’s standing, terror crawls through her skin like an incurable disease.

Clarke is standing inside the airlock. Her dad is hovering in front of the control pad.

She slams her hands against the glass doors, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t, Dad! I never meant-”

Her words die in her throat and her vision blurs from her tears.

“We both know you deserve this, kiddo,” He says with a sinister smile that she has never seen on him before.

Clarke releases one last cry of desperation as the force of gravity sucks the air from her lungs, her body hurtling backwards into the vast nothingness.

* * *

Clarke jolts upwards with a sharp intake of breath. She’s panting heavily, but she tries to bring her breathing back to a normal pace. Passing out again is _definitely_ something she wants to avoid.

It’s still dark, the only sounds being the slight rustling of the leaves in the trees. Clarke draws comfort in the familiarity of it, and tells herself, _wills_ herself to believe that it was all a dream. Not that it helps much. She’s still trembling from watching her father’s harrowing smile while floating her for all pain she has caused her own people. People who, as their leader, she was supposed to protect and take responsibility for.

Suddenly, Clarke hears the angry crunching of leaves getting closer and closer. She whips her head around to face the direction from which the noise is coming. Clarke stands up and narrows her eyes, attempting to see through the darkness. Her heartbeat is pounding in her chest, and she’s surprised the ground isn’t shaking from the force of it.

Clarke edges towards a tree and leans against it, pulling her gun out of its holster. She doesn’t dare to breathe for fear of being found. Still, the footsteps keep coming, and she realises that whoever it is isn’t even trying to be quiet. The thought of that irritates Clarke greatly. They _should_ be scared of _her_. Not the other way round.

“I know you’re behind the tree, Clarke.”

Clarke freezes. Her left eye twitches and the spark of fury lights a fire within her. She grits her teeth, almost painfully so, and steps away from the tree. She aims her gun straight at the green eyes that had once made her feel safe and comforted, but now make her blood run cold until it feels like ice in her veins.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” Clarke spits out. She surprises herself, never having heard her voice infused with such hatred before.

“I want you to pay for your crimes against my people.” The Commander answers cooly, her stoic mask firmly in place. Even so, Clarke could usually see beneath it. She wasn’t kidding when she told Lexa that she sees right through her. But now... she can’t see anything in green eyes that portray anything other than apathy, and it’s enough to make an involuntary shudder pass through Clarke.

_That sounds familiar…_

Clarke narrows her eyes, hands beginning to tremble with rage. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull this trigger”

“You won’t.” She replies while taking a step closer, leaving no place for doubt.

“No? And why is that?” Clarke’s hand tightens around her gun. She has to fight the urge to step back with the Commander’s advances.

_I will not let her intimidate me._

“You know you deserve to suffer for your actions. Why else would you have run away from your people to be lost in the middle of Trikru territory?” The Commander says, continuing to move closer until her forehead is pressing resolutely against the barrel of Clarke’s gun.

“You’re damn right I deserve to suffer for my actions. Actions _you_ forced me into taking! You’re a coward, Lexa, their deaths are on you too!” Clarke is yelling by the end as a tingling flares through her hands. The audacity the girl before her has to track her down only to tell her she has a debt to pay to her people. If anything, it’s the other way around.

“I’m not talking about the lives you took at Mount Weather, Clarke. You must pay for your crimes against _my_ people. Your flares that killed a village of innocent people. Your bomb on the bridge that killed Tris, and 28 others. The fire that took 300 of my warriors. Finn killed a further 18 innocent people for _you._ Being a leader means you must accept the consequences of your decisions.”

Clarke instinctively closes her eyes when the Commander mentions the innocent lives taken. She doesn’t regret burning the warriors that came to wipe them out, nor the bridge as it was self-defense. It was war; kill or be killed. But the rockets sent to signal the Ark? And Finn killing those villagers? Those are things that will haunt her for the rest of her days.

Each unnecessary death that she helped cause hangs on her back like a ton of bricks she carries around every day and every night. Except it’s not physical… No, this weight presses on her soul. It pushes and pushes, and she knows she can’t do anything to lessen the load. For what can one do to make up for an innocent life lost?

_I bear it so they don’t have to._

When Clarke opens her eyes again, she is no longer holding her gun. Naturally, she tries to move her hand to her hip to check if it’s there, but she realises she can’t.

Her hands are tied.

Behind a tree.

“You will exact this debt by death of a thousand cuts,” The Commander announces, now standing a few feet away. “ _Jus drein, jus daun._ ”

_Jus drein, jus daun? That’s rich coming from her. Didn’t really apply to the Mountain Men, did it?_

Clarke looks around, and only then does she notice the line of warriors that have seemingly appeared out of thin air. As far as she can tell, there are hundreds of them, all waiting with a dagger in hand. She recognises the first in the line… Tristan; the Grounder sent to wipe out her people. The man she burned in a ring of fire, along with hundreds of others.

Clarke’s breathing picks up rapidly once again, and her eyes flash everywhere, trying to discern what is and what isn’t real. She connects the similarities between the scene before her and what she had just experienced on the Ark, and she realises that she must still be dreaming.

_I never woke up in the first place... How do I wake myself up?!_

She hears movement and snaps her head back to Tristan, whose lips curled into a devilish smirk. “You won’t wake until we have gotten what we deserve, _Wanheda_ ”

_Wanheda?_ Clarke wonders without voicing her question. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what she had been thinking.

If this is just a dream, then they can’t actually hurt her, _right_?

He slowly puts his knife against her left shoulder and draws a deep gash all the way to the right side of her torso. Clarke can’t do anything but let out a shrill scream and thrash hopelessly against the tree. Red, hot blood gushes from the wound, and a vicious stinging sensation leaves her vision going in and out of focus. This _definitely_ feels very real.

Clarke desperately tries to undo the ties around her hands, but it’s useless. The next warrior is already walking towards her, dagger raised.

Clarke’s eyes dart from side to side again, frantically looking for a way out of this. “Please, stop! Lexa, please, this isn’t you!”

The brunette doesn’t show any sign of acknowledging Clarke’s words, and it reignites the rage that was temporarily subdued. Clarke wonders what kind of a sick game her subconscious is playing right now, to make her beg for mercy before the girl that tore her heart to shreds before leaving her to die.

When the next cut slices down her right arm, she refuses to cry out. Clarke will not let herself be weak in front of the Commander anymore than she already has, even in a dream. She clenches her teeth so tightly that she thinks they might break and settles on letting out quiet whimpers instead. Clarke closes her eyes and tries to focus on the pain that she deserves for the innocent villagers. If only to make it slightly more bearable. 

She quickly loses count of the slashes, but when she hasn’t felt a new burning sensation tear through her for a few seconds, she opens her eyes.

It’s almost comical, she thinks, that the scene has changed once again.

Clarke is once more standing in the dining hall of Mount Weather, staring at the hunched over bodies of the people she killed, the pungent smell of burned flesh dominating her senses. Bile rises at the back of Clarke’s throat, and she drops to her knees.

_I did this._

Truthfully, Clarke was expecting to find herself here at some point during this twisted lucid dream. How could she not?

“Hello, Clarke.” A voice she had hoped to never hear again asks from beside her.

Sitting at a table next to one of the blistered and burned bodies is Dante Wallace.

When she turns to face him, his eyes are surprisingly free of judgement, “It’s a difficult thing, isn’t it? Facing what you have done.”

Out of everyone in that Mountain, Clarke knows that Dante would have understood her actions. He was a person who may have tried to negotiate with the Sky People if Cage had not undermined him. Dante didn’t enjoy bleeding the grounders, but he did it because his people would have died without doing so. He disliked forcing the Sky People to donate their blood and bone marrow even more, but after Cage’s actions, he encouraged it because he knew that peace was completely out of the question. Just like Clarke hated pulling that lever, but she did to save her people.

And so, Clarke remains silent. There aren’t any words to express her sorrow for what happened.

“The man to my left, his name was Harry. He was an engineer in the turbine room, and his wife, Dayna, was a teacher.” Dante stands up and walks to where a child lies beside a group of others. “This was their son, Ethan. His parents were always chasing him, he had a knack for running to places that were out of bounds.”

He lets out a pained chuckle, “We put the entire mountain on lockdown once because he crawled through the vents to the warehouse. No one knew where he was, and we eventually found him sitting between a bunch of picture books he found there. Though his parents were adamant that we shouldn’t reward him for his mischief, I secretly let him keep the books.”

_This is worse than death by a thousand cuts._

Clarke didn’t realise that tears had slowly fallen from her eyes until he finished talking, his voice tinged with a profound melancholy.

Clarke always believed that it’s the small quirks and oddities about people that separate them from others. Whether they be endearing or downright annoying, they all make up the person.

Clarke loved getting to know new people on the Ark. She always made sure to make effort with the kids in her classes who were shy or didn’t have anyone to talk to. Her father often told her that no two people are the same, and everyone has something to offer.

He also told her that there’s a reason people are the way they are. Someone isn’t being friendly to you? Surprise them by showing kindness in return. Clarke had many friends on the Ark because of these philosophies that she took to heart. As a result, many opened up to her, and hearing their stories and struggles meant that Clarke became quite intuitive and empathetic, as well as an amazing doctor-in-training. She loved working with children the most, they naturally seemed to gravitate towards her.

And yet, she was never afraid to call people out on their behaviours, especially when they were being downright malicious. After all, the balance between compassion and self-respect is a fine one.

“This girl’s name was Ariana,” He recounts while crouching down and running his hand through jet-black hair.

“She had quite the attitude at only 7 years old. She probably could have given orders to our guards and they would have done what she said without question,” Dante says with a certain fondness in his voice that speaks of a deep love for his people.

He gestures at two fallen women at the table closest to where the children lay. “Her parents died of a radiation breach when she was still a baby. Sara and April adopted her.”

The next few hours went by like this, with Dante telling Clarke about each person whose life she took. While absolutely devastating to hear, Clarke finds an odd comfort in knowing the names of these people. They deserve to be more than a number in Clarke’s mind. From now on, whenever she thinks of the sacrifice she had to make, there were actual people that she could think of.

And yet, she’s barely suppressing her sobs by the time Dante finishes talking about the last person who was lying with a _baby_ cradled to his chest.

_What gave me the right to do this to them? What makes 47 of my people more important than 350 of theirs?_

“Now that you have names and stories behind my people, you will join them in their fate.” Dante declares, his voice a bitter contrast to the loving tone he had taken on while talking about his people. He was clearly an outstanding leader to his people, getting to know each and every one of them.

_I would pull that lever 1,000 times over if it meant that my people were safe. What does that make me?_

“What does that mean?” She asks hoarsely, not sure if she even wants to know the answer.

“Goodbye, Clarke.”

And with that, Clarke is on fire. Every inch of her body melting from her skin to her core, the white-hot burn raking through her being. She lets out a piercing scream and falls, her shoulder taking the brunt of her weight. Clarke is helpless to do anything but writhe and thrash as blisters form all over her now dark red skin.

* * *

When Clarke jerks awake this time, she scrambles to her feet and sprints as fast as her still throbbing legs allow her. Clarke’s feet pound on the leaves beneath her, the chilly night air shocking her throat and lungs as her breathing becomes faster. Whether it be the burning of her lungs or the sharp pain in her knees, she just needs to feel _something_ physical. Something beyond the emotional torture she just endured.

Clarke wonders how she is supposed to keep living, keep _breathing_ with the horrific images branded in her mind’s eye. Will she ever see anything else again?

Being conscious becomes unbearable once again when a deep hatred for herself leaks into every fibre of her being. She remembers every person who Dante told her about, and she halts in her tracks to hold herself against a tree, nails digging into the rough bark.

“I can’t do this,” Clarke whispers into the dark silence, and it’s a confession, an admission of weakness. Her face scrunches up in pure anguish as she tries to think of a way to make it stop. Clarke’s eyes slowly wander downwards to the gun fastened at her hip, the weight of it suddenly more than she can stand.

Fresh tears stream down her face anew while a trembling hand reaches down to pull it out of its holster.

The gun is deathly cold to the touch, it’s blackness a stark contrast to her pale hand. And Clarke thinks it ironic that she is still allowed to touch an object capable of such destruction after committing a crime so heinous as genocide. Slowly, she presses the barrel under her chin, her heartbeat picking up with a ringing in her ears.

_Is this the part where my life flashes before my eyes?_

Clarke feels like she is in limbo, balancing on a weak tether between life and death. That period between inhaling and exhaling or the day before the first leaf falls, signifying the end of growth and the beginning of deterioration. Time seems to slow, and she barely hears the safety of her gun being flicked off.

Instead of her life flashing before her eyes, she sees her mother and father, Raven and Bellamy and the pain she might cause them and her people in the wake of her death.

And finally, the tether snaps.

“NO!” Clarke shouts into the darkness, dropping the gun to the ground with a loud thump. She looks down at it and kicks it away from herself, again and again until her toes are bleeding.

“I am _not_ dying like this,” She vows to herself, reasoning that she doesn’t even deserve death as a way out of her pain.

Clarke runs again, in the opposite direction of where her gun now lies. Part of her knows that leaving without it is quite stupid because she’s defenseless without it, but she can’t bring herself to care.

_I don’t trust myself with it_.

Suddenly, a surprised yelp echoes through the trees when she trips on a root, the momentum from her running causing her to propel forward. The fall doesn’t stop once she hits the ground though, and she realises that she’s tumbling gracelessly down a large hill. _Just my luck._ Clarke groans as rocks and roots dig into her sides, her body at the sole mercy of gravity.

After rolling to the bottom of the hill, Clarke hisses in pain when a sharp rock slices through her left temple. Blood gushes out of the wound as everything goes hazy, and the last thing she is aware of before passing out is a figure hovering above her, mumbling what seems to be a string of curse words under their breath.


	2. What I Am

Clarke groans when she attempts to open her eyes, the sunlight blinding her while she waits for her eyes to adjust. She looks around and sees that she is in a small clearing, head supported by a soft fur. Only then does she remember the events of the previous night and she puts her right hand to her temple to check the severity of the gash that caused her to pass out. To her confusion, she feels a tight bandage wrapped around her head.

“You’re welcome, _skaigada,_ ” A familiar, deep voice says.

Clarke jolts upwards, her eyebrows furrowing with disbelief.

Her eyes widen when she sees who is sitting beside her with one knee tucked to her chest, “ _Anya_? What are you doing here?”

She hasn’t seen Anya since the march to the mountain. She looks much the same now, warpaint coating the area around her light brown eyes and hair pulled back in three parts to meet in one main braid at the back. Her long, black overcoat radiates strength, and it’s just as intimidating as their first meeting.

_“Commander, not like this. Let us fight,” Lincoln protests, unwilling to leave the Sky People on the back of such a betrayal._

_“He is right, Heda. We will never get another chance to defeat them. You promised our army that they will have blood, they will not accept this,” Anya adds with exasperation._

_“Do not question me, general. The deal is done.” The Commander insists, the clenching of her jaw the only indication that the situation is affecting her at all._

_“What about the reapers? We need the Sky P-” She tries again. The fact that the Commander had been her second had always given her more leeway than any other, and she sure as hell will use that now._

_“Teik oso rowenes laud!”_

_And with that, the Commander officially shattered the alliance along with Clarke’s already beaten heart._

“Did _she_ send you? Because if she did, then you can go float yourse-” Clarke continues with a scowl, fists clenching tightly and leaving no room for Anya to answer her previous question. By now, it’s painful to speak through the scratchiness in her throat.

“ _Shof op_!” Anya interrupts, annoyance etched into her features. “The Commander did not send me to track you down. I am here of my own accord.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise, and she doesn’t know whether she’s relieved or secretly disappointed. No one does anything of their own accord. Not unless the Commander knows and approves, but Anya wouldn’t lie to her, not about this.

“So, she doesn’t know you’re here?” Clarke questions.

Anya raises an unamused eyebrow, “That _is_ what I implied”

“Why?” Clarke rasps, unable to think of anything else to say… She knows that abandoning one’s duty is harshly punished within the Trikru, taking Lincoln as an example.

“Drink,” She commands, tossing her a waterskin.

Clarke complies without argument, her body’s primal instincts taking over. She finds an incredible relief the second she pours the cool liquid into her mouth. She swirls it around her teeth to clean them a little and then takes steady gulps until not even a drop remains. She didn’t even realise how much she had been drinking, and when she looks back at Anya, she sees a hint of amusement in her eyes.

She remembers that her biology teacher on the Ark had always claimed that man’s greatest pleasure is quenching your thirst with a cup of cold water. It’s only natural that she and many others had snickered at this, coming up with many other ‘ideas’ of what man’s greatest pleasure is instead. But now, she sees that there was at least some merit to what he was saying.

“Sorry,” Clarke mumbles, wiping her mouth when another thought comes to mind. “When did you find me?”

“I tracked you down at night when you were stumbling through the trees. You move carelessly, it was not hard to find you.”

“Y-You’ve been following me since last night?” That would mean that Anya had seen her throughout her nightmares, and Clarke thinks the wound on her pride is much deeper than the one on her temple.

“Do all Sky People make it a point to ask about things that have been confirmed already?”

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but I left. I’m done. So if you’re here to convince me to go back then you’re wasting your breath,” Clarke says, becoming irritated with Anya’s presence. She isn’t showing any intention of answering her questions without snark, and Clarke doesn’t need this after everything. This must be some sick joke that the universe is intent on playing _._

_Has she seriously come here just to piss me off?_

“Tell me, _skaigada,_ what will you do come winter? You can’t even walk quietly in the forest now, what will you do once snow falls? Do you have weapons to hunt? Knowledge of how to skin an animal if you get lucky enough to-”

Clarke glares at the woman before her and grits her teeth, “Okay, that’s enough. What do you want from me, Anya?”

To be honest, she hadn’t even thought of those things, which she now realises was quite unrealistic.

Clarke’s shoulders slump pathetically, the thought of Anya seeing her episode the previous night making her highly uncomfortable, and now she even knows about how little regard she had for her own survival when she left Camp Jaha. For someone who has been raised in a culture where emotions equate to weakness, Clarke isn’t sure she wants to know what Anya thinks of her now.

“From you? Nothing. If you truly do not wish to return to your people then you need someone to teach you how to survive in this world. I will teach you our ways, _Klark kom Skaikru_. I will train you to be a warrior. You will need it.” Anya says, her chin lifting with an air of pride in her tone.

“Train to be a _warrior_?” Clarke seethes. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t want-” She pauses when a drop of rainwater hits her nose. Clarke looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of dark and angry clouds looming overhead. It had been sunny just a few minutes ago…

“ _Skrish, a_ storm is coming. There’s a cave nearby, _mafta ai op,”_ Anya commands, leaving no time for hesitancy as she packs up the furs that Clarke had used as a pillow.

“That means follow me, _skaigada._ We will work on your Trigedasleng along with your training,” She adds, smirking when Clarke looks at her in complete bewilderment. With that, Anya walks through a dense array of trees, not bothering to check if Clarke is following.

_What the fuck? Did she not hear a single word I said?_ Clarke thinks as the droplets become more frequent, leaving little splashes of sting on her face.

Clarke figures that she has two options, either stay under a tree during a rainstorm and risk freezing to death or sit in a cave with a snarky, arrogant general that seems to have decided the course her life is now taking. Freezing to death _almost_ sounds more welcoming than the cave. Almost. Besides, once she convinces Anya to leave her alone, she could use the cave as a temporary place to stay.

Seeing no other choice, Clarke huffs and hastily trudges after the warrior.

_Skaigada -_ Sky girl

_Teik oso rowenes laud! - Sound the retreat!_

_Shof op! -_ Be quiet

_Skrish -_ Shit

* * *

By the time the pair reaches the cave, both of them are drenched from head to toe. Clarke’s teeth are chattering and her muscles clench and unclench, trying to generate heat. Her clothes stick uncomfortably to her body, and by the squelching every time she moves, she’s sure that an entire lake lives in her boots. Clarke notes that Anya seems to take the cold well, the only sign of its effect being the goosebumps on her neck and the occasional shudder.

She watches as Anya places a thin stick into a piece of wood with a small hole in it and starts rolling the stick between her hands. It’s not long until a spark catches fire on the leaves and sticks surrounding the wood, and soon they have a fire that warms up the rest of their small cave.

Once they are both seated, Anya hands her some dried meat and berries from her pack. Clarke unsuccessfully tries to suppress a moan when she bites off a piece of the meat in her famished state, thinking she has tasted nothing this delicious in her entire life.

Anya watches with barely concealed amusement as Clarke literally _inhales_ the food she gave her. “Your bandages are wet, I will change them once you have finished eating” 

“You know, you still haven’t told me how you even knew I left my people,” Clarke mentions, hoping that she will answer more of her questions. Clarke can’t understand why she would be here helping her if she wasn’t under any orders, but since Anya doesn’t seem likely to answer that question yet, Clarke starts off with something else to get a better picture.

_Wouldn’t it be better for her people if she killed me instead?_

Anya seems to sense that Clarke needs answers before agreeing to anything, so she sighs and begins to explain.

“A scout remained close to the mountain to report on the outcome of the war after the army retreated. I was present when he told the Commander that you entered the mountain… and later returned with all of your people mostly unharmed. It made no sense, the _maunon_ would never let you go so easily.”

Anya pauses, gauging her reaction.

Clarke shudders at the alarming truth to her words. She had seen it in the ink of Cage’s beady eyes, his lips curled evilly, and his skin pale compared to the darkness within. He would have subjected each of them to the same torturous death.

Clarke almost chuckles when she realises that it must have left the grounders utterly dumbfounded, that she strolled into the mountain and then came out unscathed with all of her people.

_If only they knew what I was forced to do in there._

“It was not easy, but I convinced _Heda_ to let me lead a small party of volunteering warriors to investigate. It was dangerous, and yet hundreds immediately offered themselves for the mission,” Anya continues, her features scrunching up in distaste when she adds, “I was only allowed nine others”

“We found the dead leader of the _maunon_ close to the entrance, and I decided to reopen the door to see inside. I believe you know what I found there."

Clarke ducks her head in shame, fighting to keep the food she has eaten from coming back up.

"I reported back to _Heda_ , and we returned with the entire army to put the bodies to rest,” Anya explains, her eyes softening when Clarke holds the sides of her head, turning it from side to side as if to shield herself from her words.

“I’m a monster,” She whispers, despair infused in these three words as tears trickle down her cheeks. She can’t bear to look at Anya, so she keeps her gaze fixed on the fire before her.

“Clarke, look at me. Do as I say,” Anya demands, albeit gently.

The fact that Anya used her actual name makes her look up, and it baffles Clarke to discover that _none_ of what she was expecting; harsh judgement, disgust and even fear were present in her eyes. Instead, there's understanding, and… _could that actually be respect?_ But no, that can’t be true. Who would respect someone who had murdered over 300 innocent people?

“No one holds it against you, what you did in that mountain. It is simply what you _had_ to do,” Anya begins, stopping when Clarke attempts to stifle a sob. She shifts uncomfortably in her position, not used to outward displays of emotion.

“The mountain tortured and killed thousands of my people. There is not one person in the 12 clans who doesn’t know someone taken by the _maunon_. You ended that. You brought my people justice. You honour us all, and we are forever indebted to you.” By the time she finishes her small, but passionate speech, Clarke has given up with restraining her tears.

“It doesn’t feel like an honour,” Clarke croaks, her voice regaining power in her next question “In what kind of world is murdering 350 innocent people considered an honour?”

“None of them are innocent, _skaigada._ You did everything you could to save them, and there will come a time where you will find acceptance.”

The notion of acceptance is too unimaginable for Clarke at this stage, and her body deflates slightly when she releases a long exhale. “Why are you here, Anya?”

“I told you, I am here to train you. The news of _Maun-de_ ’s fall has spread through the clans, and people are already speaking of _Wanheda’s_ legacy. You must learn to protect yourself, there will be those who seek to challenge you for your power,” Anya points out.

“Fucking great. It’s been what? A day? And what do you mean by ‘my power’? Please don’t tell me that your people think I’m some sort of goddess after what I’ve done,” Clarke knows she’s being petulant, but she’s growing more and more irritated with this news.

_Why can’t I just be left alone? Not even for a goddamn day?_

Anya swallows, her back straightening more rigidly than before. She knows that Clarke won’t like what she reveals next. “In our culture, you absorb the power of those you kill. As I said, the mountain has killed thousands of our people. Such power is unmatched.”

As Clarke takes this in, she experiences a strange sense of déjà vu. And suddenly, it hits her.

“Hold on, what was that name you called me when speaking of my legacy?”

Anya hesitates for a second, as if the girl beside her may implode with her next words. “ _Wanheda._ ”

“ _Wanheda_ … That sounds familiar. I think I heard someone calling me that before. What does it mean?” Clarke’s eyebrows are tightly knit together in concentration, trying to remember where she heard it before.

“You should rest, _skaigada._ I will keep watch,” Anya says in an obvious attempt to change the subject. She pulls out a fur from her pack and hands it to her.

Clarke has to resist rolling her eyes.

_Is she seriously trying to send me to bed?_

“Tell me what it means, Anya.”

She gazes into her eyes, scrutinizing her in a way that makes Clarke toy with the hem of her shirt. A shadow flickers over half of the warrior’s face, the other side being tinted in an orange hue as the silence builds between them.

After a few more seconds of Clarke unwilling to back down, Anya releases a resigned sigh, “Commander of Death”

The words hit Clarke like icicles to the gut and she drops her gaze, breaking the steadfast eye contact that had developed. Without a word, she rolls out the fur and curls into it, facing away from the other woman. She hears a shuffling and assumes that Anya has settled against the entrance of the cave, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.

The more Clarke thinks about the name that is becoming her legacy, the more revolted she becomes. She was supposed to become a doctor, a person who saves lives and is there for people in their most vulnerable moments. Instead, she has become the Commander of Death. And apparently, it’s a _good_ thing. A low ache blossoms to life in her left temple, and she closes her eyes, attempting to take deep breaths.

_I am become death. Destroyer of worlds._

* * *

_“Love is weakness, Clarke,” Lexa says as she plunges her sword into Raven’s chest, heart-wrenching screams piercing their surroundings until they die down with the slumping of the mechanic’s body._

_Clarke claws at the ties around her hands, kicking and writhing, “Stop, please! Take me, kill me- Just don’t hurt them!”_

_“You must learn to accept your pain for what it is,” She continues, coming to a stop in front of Abby._

_Clarke’s eyes widen in horror, “STOP! I’ll do anything, just please-”_

_Lexa’s eyes lock with hers now, the coldness in them raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “What is love, Clarke?”_

_“Weakness,” She breathes, hoping it will stop the older girl from hurting her mother._

_Lexa nods once and turns, tearing her sword through Abby’s chest in one swift movement. Clarke releases an earsplitting sob, watching as blood trickles out of her mother’s mouth._

“Clarke, wake up!”

Clarke lurches forward, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body as her mind desperately tries to latch onto what is real. A firm grip on her shoulder’s grounds her, and she sags into it.

A couple seconds later, a calming voice punctures her hazy, panicked state. “Breathe, _skaigada_. Close your eyes. Now do as I say, inhale, one, two, three, four- good, now exhale, one, two, three, four. Again.”

On the third attempt, Clarke manages to follow the voice’s instructions, and only then does she reopen her eyes. She is met with the sight of Anya, lips pursed in concern. Clarke drops her gaze to her fidgeting hands, mumbling a weak apology.

Anya drops her hands from her shoulder’s, and she has to clamp down on the urge to whimper at the loss of contact.

“Do not apologise, _skaigada_. It is normal to have nightmares after seeing so much death. Tell me what you were dreaming about.”

The thought of opening up to anyone about _Lexa_ haunting her dreams isn’t something she’s keen on doing. “I-I don’t..”

“We will fix your dream together. Trust me, you will feel better after.”

Clarke furrows her brows and scratches the base of her neck. “What do you mean ‘fix’?”

“You would know if you stopped being so stubborn.”

Clarke lets out a shaky breath, knowing this isn’t a battle she will win. Plus, what does she have to lose anymore? If it will make her feel better somehow, then why not? Anya has already seen her at her lowest, after all.

“I-I was in a field, tied to a pole. My people were on their knees before me, and Le- The Commander told me that love is w-weakness before killing Raven.” Clarke pauses, ducking her head to hide the few traitorous tears that escape.

“I couldn’t do anything, my hands were tied and I-“ She shakes her head, taking a deep breath. Anya brings one of her hands back to her shoulder, and Clarke is grateful for the comfort. “She moved onto my mom next, asking me what love is. I-I told her weakness, but s-she still k-killed her!”

“ _Ait._ ” The general says with a nod. “We will change the ending of your dream, _skaigada."_ When Clarke looks at Anya in utter defeat, she sighs and continues, “You broke free from your ties, and you disarmed the Commander before she killed Raven. Now, say it yourself”

“I broke free from my ties, and I disarmed the Commander before she killed Raven,” Clarke says, feeling her shoulders roll forward in unexpected relief. Her breathing comes much easier with this version of her dream pictured vividly in her mind. She swipes at her face to get rid of any tears and manages a small smile.

Anya’s signature smirk returns, “Then you broke the Commander’s nose and told her that love is not weakness before reuniting with your people”

Clarke lets out a small chuckle, much more relaxed. “Now _that_ sounds like the perfect ending”

Anya seems pleased, letting a small smile play at the corners of her lips, “Get more rest, _skaigada_.” With those words, she reclaims her place at the entrance of the cave, dutifully keeping watch.

Clarke lies down, and a few minutes later she mumbles in her half-asleep state, “Anya?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

_Ait -_ Okay

* * *

The next morning, Clarke wakes to the enticing aroma of cooking meat. Rolling her head to the side, she spots Anya holding a stick with two large pieces of meat over a fire.

“I was beginning to think you would never awaken,” She says dryly, without turning around.

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise, does she have some sort of sixth sense? “How did you know?”

Anya turns around to look at her, quirking a brow. “I know everything.”

Clarke sends her a glare and rolls her eyes. It’s really too early to deal with Anya's snide remarks.

“What time is it?” She asks instead of letting her know as much.

“Almost midday. I hunted enough to last us for our journey.”

Clarke stands up and frowns at her, chin raised in defiance. “Journey? Anya, I haven’t agreed to any ‘training’ yet. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’ll manage on my own.”

“Yet.”

Clarke runs a hand through her hair once, tightening the other in a fist. “What?”

“You said you haven’t agreed to train _yet._ What must I do to make you see past your foolishness?” She says, voice deep and frustration shining in her eyes.

“You abandoned your duty, Anya. From what I’ve seen, you’re loyal to your people. Why are you risking your life to help me? And leave out the bullshit about ‘owing’ me or whatever.”

To Clarke’s surprise, the warrior smirks, “I can see why your people look to you to lead. You are not as stupid as you look.”

Clarke blinks, not sure whether to take that as a compliment. “Thanks?”

Anya’s hands come to rest behind her back, and she paces back and forth. “After we finished putting the souls at _Maun-de_ to rest, I fell asleep in my tent. During my sleep, I dreamt of you staggering through the woods with black smoke around you. In Trikru, it is a symbol for the mind being poisoned through one’s own thoughts.”

“My surroundings changed, and I found myself at my brother’s old bunker, it is a candle mark away from the nearest village. When I climbed inside, I tripped over a sword that was lying on the floor.”

Anya stops her pacing and faces her, exhaling slowly as if to prepare herself for her next words. “I picked up the sword, and it had the mark of _Wanheda_ on it.”

Clarke stiffens, a swirl of anxiety stirring in her gut. “The mark of- Anya, what are you talking about?”

“The mark of _Wanheda_ is a ring of fire with symbols of the three pillars of her spirit inside it. From then, I knew what I had to do, so I found you.”

“ _Wanheda_ is much more than just a title, isn’t it?” She asks, already knowing the answer. Anya nods, and Clarke sighs in resignation.

“And people are going to track me down to challenge me?”

Another nod.

“But what will happen to you? Won’t you be killed for leaving without telling anyone?”

“I could not trust anyone with information of your whereabouts. I will not be killed; it is considered more traitorous to ignore a dream like mine. _Heda_ and my people understand this,” She explains, smirking before adding her next words, “Besides, they would not dare to kill me when _Wanheda_ wishes me alive”

“Very funny,” Clarke huffs. “I don’t really have a choice here, do I?”

“Not unless you wish to live,” Anya replies, giving her a knowing look that speaks of the night she watched Clarke hold herself at gunpoint. The air between them shifts, and Clarke clears her throat awkwardly under the intense gaze directed towards her.

Part of her knew that she would eventually agree to Anya’s training. Her episode in the woods showed her she does not want to die, at least not by her own hand.

And although she wants nothing more than to be alone for a while, to take some time and much-needed space, she thinks that maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe having a purpose other than leading will help her process what she has been through in the past couple of months.

She knows there won’t be any escaping her decisions, she will bear them for the rest of time - will hate herself for longer. However, if she wants to at the very least _survive_ , then this is the best option.

There is one thing that Clarke needs to know first, and they both know what she is referring to when she asks, “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“If you truly wanted to die, then there is nothing I could have done. You would have found a way.”

She nods, agreeing with the harsh truth in Anya’s words. She would have found a way, especially considering how stubborn she is once she sets her mind to something.

Clarke takes a couple of steps towards her and decidedly holds out her arm, “I would be honoured to learn your ways”

Anya grips her forearm, and with that, a silent understanding passes between them.

Clarke vaguely remembers the last time they found themselves in such a position. The parallel is not lost on her, that last time it was _her_ trying to convince the general to work together.

_How the tables have turned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading & for the response to the first chapter! 
> 
> The whole 'changing the ending of your dream' part has helped me a lot personally, it really refocuses my energy on a better outcome, so I included it here. 
> 
> I have a lot of the story written already, so updates will be posted every few days for the next while.


	3. Before and After

In comfortable silence, Clarke rolls up the fur she slept on while Anya packs up their food stores. She is still getting used to the fact that grounders don’t feel the need to fill every silence with pointless conversation, and she thinks she prefers it this way. Besides, she's learned that anything she wants to know of a person's feelings can be observed in their body language.

After packing everything, they finally leave the cave when the sun is at its highest point.

“How long will it take to get to your brother’s bunker?”

Anya doesn’t so much at glance at her, keeping her eyes trained on their surroundings. “A day, but I suspect it will take us two. I will teach you some things about walking in the forest, and we will stop at a lake close by. You reek.”

Clarke is about to protest and say that she does not smell _that_ bad, but then she catches a whiff of herself and scrunches up her nose in disgust. Poor Anya, she thinks, for having to stay in a tiny cave with her for the entire night. “Ugh, I see what you mean”

Anya releases a grunt of agreement. “Watch how I am walking, _skaigada._ What do you notice?”

Clarke watches her for a few seconds, furrowing her brow in concentration. Back on the Ark, she was loved by _all_ of her teachers, and she is determined not to make a further fool of herself in front of the warrior.

“Your legs are bent slightly… and um.. you aren’t making as much noise as I am.”

“Good. My legs are bent for stability, each step is easier to control when I use my muscles. What else do you see?”

It takes Clarke a minute of scrutinizing her steps and comparing them with her own, “Your heel isn’t touching the ground first when you take a step forward”

Anya nods in approval, “Very good, _skaigada_.”

Clarke can’t help but feel a sense of pride when the warrior praises her.

_Maybe I’m just too used to disappointing people._

“To walk in silence, you must keep your weight on the leg behind while you step with the front outer side of your foot first, followed by the middle and lastly your heel.” Clarke watches as Anya does a slow demonstration, and she copies the motion with her own step forward. “Only then do you shift your weight to the leg in front.”

After a few minutes of shuffling her feet awkwardly, Clarke gets used to the motion. Her thighs soon begin to burn from the slight bend in her knees, her muscles unused to the strain. Although Anya moves with much more grace and fluidity, Clarke realises that their combined movements are completely silent now.

“Eventually, you will be able to walk long distances without tiring, and you will learn to run like this too. It is an essential skill for hunting, I do not know how you Sky People have not starved.”

“Not all of us are completely useless,” Clarke murmurs, having no fight in her to talk back properly because of a familiar ache reigniting in her knees.

Anya raises an eyebrow, “I will believe it when I see it”

* * *

They walk for a few hours longer before reaching the lake, and Clarke has long since given up her “fox” walk, as she dubbed it. By the time she stands in front of the water, she is itching to scrub every part of herself until she can no longer _feel_ the past 48 hours clinging to her skin.

She turns her gaze to Anya, who wordlessly hands her a bar of soap and a towel from her pack, and Clarke thinks she might cry of joy to know that she’ll feel _clean_ again.

_At least physically._

Her clothes reek of sweat, and she swears she can detect the faint smell of burnt flesh, but they’ll have to wait to be washed. Fresh underwear is her main problem, and she tells herself she will burn her current set as soon as she can. Clarke realises that she still has the shoulder guard strapped to her… The one that Lexa gave her, signifying her as the leader of the Sky People.

_The entire war camp was riled up and bloodthirsty after the missile hit TonDC. The warriors of the army lost their revered generals and leaders, and they were craving to storm the mountain and get the justice they deserved._

_When Clarke arrived at the army’s camp, a warrior told her that the Commander wishes to speak with her. She welcomed this, wanting to pour her grief and regret for the sacrifice at TonDC into planning for every potential outcome of the war. When she followed Lexa out of the village that night, she swore to herself that she would avenge the fallen. They would not die in vain._

_Clarke straightens her back, taking a deep breath before entering. Something about the Commander’s presence both excites and terrifies her at the same time. “You wanted to see me?”_

_Lexa looks up from the map she was studying and places it on the table, “Yes. There is something that I wish to give you.” Clarke watches as she rests her hand on her sword, and then drops it at her side, only to move it back up again. “I had it made a while ago, but I was not sure when to give it to you.”_

_Clarke raises her eyebrows, corners of her lips tilting upward. The Commander of the 12 Clans is uncharacteristically flustered, to the point where she is rambling. The last time Clarke had seen Lexa this expressive was when she told her that her heart shows no sign of weakness after escaping the pauna._

_“Show me,” Clarke says softly, trying to put the girl before her at ease._

_Lexa gives her a terse nod and walks over to her trunk of belongings. Clarke watches as she crouches and pulls something out._

_When she stands up again, her spine is even more rigid, if that is even possible. When she doesn’t turn around right away, Clarke takes a few steps towards her and clears her throat, which seems to snap her out of her reverie._

_Lexa turns to face her, holding what looks like a greyish-blue shoulder guard with a long black buckle. It’s similar to the one she is currently wearing, except less bulky, and Clarke immediately recognises the significance. It marks her as Lexa’s equal as a leader. None of the generals or grounders she has seen have worn a shoulder guard. It must hold weight in Lexa’s culture, to what extent though, she isn’t sure._

_Lexa seems to take Clarke’s extended silence as a bad thing, “You do not have to wear it, I just thought-”_

_“Lexa, stop,” Clarke interrupts. She waits until green eyes connect with hers, “I love it, thank you. Help me put it on?”_

_Lexa gives her another sharp nod and clicks open the buckle which Clarke recognises as a seatbelt from a pre-apocalypse aeroplane. She raises her left arm when Lexa has placed it on her shoulder, giving her space to secure the buckle once more._

_Clarke has to admit, she feels ten times more confident with it on. It positively exudes dominance, “This is so badass.” She turns to face her, grinning, “I feel like a completely different person”_

_Lexa’s eyes widen and a groove appears between her brows, “Bad ass?”_

_Clarke chuckles and reminds herself that their cultures are different, the division seems to dissolve when it is just the two of them. “It’s the Sky People’s word for, um, an intimidating and confident sort of strong. Like, Raven always talks about how badass her explosions are.”_

_“I see,” She responds, the small smile playing at her lips that Clarke had the privilege of seeing only a couple times before._

_They spend the rest of the day meeting with the clans about the ramifications of TonDC, and Clarke refuses to leave even when they have gone over their plan twice. Lexa has long since taken off her formal attire, leaving her coat hanging open while she lays on her furs, the tent’s only light coming from multiple candles._

Clarke swallows harshly and shakes her head back and forth, trying to rid any and all thoughts of the green-eyed girl.

“I will keep watch from above,” Anya says before turning and climbing up the trunk of a tree overlooking the vicinity. If she noticed Clarke’s strange behaviour, she doesn’t comment on it.

Clarke bites her lip and looks up at the general who is now lounging on a branch, trying to convey her apprehension. She hears her snort, “Do not worry, _skaigada_. You will have your privacy.”

Clarke nods, and she’s pretty sure she hears the word “ _branwoda_ ” drift down to her, so she makes a mental note to ask about its meaning later.

She quickly strips herself of her clothing, laying them on the ground beside the lake. Goosebumps surface over her entire body and her teeth chatter as soon as she steps into the water. Clarke starts with her hair, submerging herself into the water once to wet it. She grabs the bar of soap that is resting on a rock beside the lake, and it smells of lavender and honey. She rubs it in her hands until a lather covers them before running them through her hair.

Once Clarke has washed out her hair, she sets to scrubbing her entire body until her skin is pink, until she’s satisfied that the past couple of days aren’t clinging to her body anymore. After drying herself, she scrunches up her nose when redonning her dirty clothing.

Clarke turns her attention upwards, squinting into the tree that Anya had been in. “Anya?”

A sudden thud next to her causes her to yelp, and she jumps at least two feet into the air.

“Yes, _skaigada?_ ” She responds a second later.

Clarke sends her a well-practiced glare, “I hate you”

Much to her annoyance, Anya lets out a chuckle and walks past her. “The feeling is mutual. Let us go, we must cover more ground before dark.”

* * *

Clarke swears that her legs are about to give out when Anya finally announces that they will rest for the night. Her muscles are not at all used to walking such distances within a few days.

“You will make the fire tonight,” Anya informs, tossing her the stick and wooden piece that Clarke had seen her use to make a fire the previous night.

Clarke nods and gathers some leaves and sticks, placing them around the wood. She rolls the stick between her palms, waiting for the friction to create some sparks. When nothing happens for a couple of minutes, Clarke hesitantly looks at Anya who is sharpening her daggers with a rock.

Without looking up, “Move your hands down more, and faster.”

Clarke blinks and does as instructed. Soon, tendrils of smoke billow out of the hole in the wood, and Clarke smiles in satisfaction when flames catch hold of the twigs and leaves that she placed.

As Clarke stares into the flames she created, she becomes lost in them. They seem to become larger and larger until the smell of burning flesh shocks her senses. Her chest tightens, and soon she’s gasping for air as panic seizes her being. Her vision fills with a ring of fire, of burning warriors that scream through the searing in their bones. And finally, the flames engulf Finn, melting everything he once was into a puddle of nothing.

She vaguely registers a voice calling out to her, but she can’t focus on it.

With her heart still pounding, Clarke snaps out of her trance when a cold cloth hits her forehead. The fog of terror doesn’t lessen though until a warm pressure settles against her back, muscular arms wrapping around her front. She recognises the woody and spiced scent that encircles her, and it comforts Clarke greatly.

“Breathe, Clarke.”

She tries her best to obey and rests her head back against the voice’s shoulder.

“Good. In for four, and out for four. Just like yesterday.”

After a few minutes of breathing and stifling her sobs, reassured by the occasional “You are safe”, the grip surrounding her slackens. Clarke thinks she might cry again in the hope that it’ll make the physical comfort come back.

With an arm still supporting her back, Anya shifts to face her.

Clarke ducks her head in shame.

_I can’t even light a goddamn fire without becoming a weak, emotional mess._

“I-I don’t know how that happened, I just- The fire.. I created it. I-It was me. And that re-reminded-”

“It is okay, _skaigada._ ”

When Clarke looks up, steeling herself for Anya's expression, she is shocked to see a deep understanding in her eyes. A look free of any judgement, and it’s enough to let a few more tears escape her.

“Many warriors who come back from battle never fight another again, and not because of physical harm.” She pauses, waiting for Clarke to meet her gaze again. “You are _not_ weak for feeling, it is a _good_ sign. It means you are healing.”

“I… thank you,” Clarke replies, the growling of her stomach making Anya smirk.

She hands her a bag of meat, dried berries and nuts after taking some out for herself. “Eat.”

After a few minutes of chewing at a strip of meat, Clarke glances at Anya for the seventh time. She has a few questions that have been consuming her, but she knows they may be personal. The last thing she wants is to anger the only person who bothered to find her.

“If you look at me one more time without saying what it is you want to say, I will ensure that you cannot speak ever again,” Anya says, fixing her with a threatening stare that usually makes her subjects squirm.

Clarke flinches, looking like a deer caught in headlights, “I have a question… but it might be personal..”

She seems to scrutinize her for a few seconds, and finally, “Ask what you wish to know. I will not be angry.”

“You sure?” When Anya raises an eyebrow in irritation, Clarke chastises herself, remembering that grounders don’t say anything they don’t mean. She’s so used to overcompensating and overexplaining to make sure no one misunderstands her, that it’s hard now to take what people say for face value.

“Sorry. I was wondering… what happened between you and the Commander?” Clarke watches her posture stiffens, and she’s quick to fill the silence in typical _Skaikru_ fashion. “It’s just, you looked pretty upset after she reassigned your unit to Tristan back when we were at war. And I still don’t understand why you didn’t at least tell _her_ you were going to find me, if no one else.”

“Are you done talking?” Clarke nods, and Anya exhales slowly before explaining. “Lexa was brought to Polis during her fourth summer. Each _Natblida_ is assigned a mentor to teach them to be a warrior. When I met Lexa, she instantly took a liking to me and began following me everywhere. It was infuriating, but I saw something special in her, and so I chose her as my second.” Anya’s tone has taken on a deep fondness, and Clarke’s heart aches. For what exactly, she isn’t sure.

She becomes hesitant, and it’s clear she’s choosing her words with care, “The Commander had a lover when the spirit chose her-”

“Costia. She told me,” Clarke interrupts, knowing that this may be difficult for Anya if she was close to her too.

Anya narrows her eyes in suspicion, “She told you about Costia?”

“Yes. She said that the Ice Queen captured and killed Costia for being hers.”

Anya regards her for a few more seconds, appearing deep in thought at this information.

“What you do not know is that my brother, Arlo, was the spy that told the Ice Queen where the Commander’s affections lie.” She pauses and shakes her head, “ _Azgeda_ captured his lover and daughter. They promised him they would be unharmed if he gave up a secret of the Commander. Long story short, they lied. They sent his head to me when Costia was first captured, and I felt responsible.”

Clarke’s features soften in sympathy. She knows first-hand how crazy it can drive you; holding yourself responsible for a death you may have been able to prevent. To this day she feels like she could have stopped Charlotte from killing Wells if she had simply paid more attention to the girl, and if she hadn’t wrongly accused Murphy, then she may still be alive.

“After Costia’s head was sent to Lexa, she also blamed me. It was my duty to make sure there were no spies in the tower, along with _Titus_ ,” She practically growls the name, and Clarke winces, grateful that the anger is not directed at herself.

“He and I never got along because his teachings differ from what I tried to instil in Lexa. She could not bear to look at me, I was a strong reminder of Costia as the three of us spent a lot of time together. So, she turned to him instead for guidance, looking for any way out of her pain.”

Clarke gasps, coming to understand how a girl with abundant love to give could have turned into one who believes it is nothing but a weakness.

“ _He_ taught her to cover her pain through ‘love is weakness’, didn’t he?”

A sharp nod.

“And he probably told her a bunch of bullshit about you, so she’d isolate herself?”

Another nod.

It makes sense, Clarke muses. The Commander, too consumed with beating her pain into numbness, would not have seen through him, and any pain that remained would have turned to resentment for _how_ everything had happened. For Anya.

“Asshole.”

That earns Clarke a small smile, but it disappears as quickly as it came. “Eventually, I was convinced that my presence in Polis was doing more harm to my relationship with Lexa than good. I resigned from her personal guard and took over a unit in the _Trikru_. When she reassigned Tristan to take over after the bridge explosion, my hope to reconcile someday was rendered pointless.”

Anya lets out another heavy sigh, “To many of my people, being demoted from a leadership position is considered worse than death. It is shameful.”

“I understand,” Clarke says, and she means it. She tried her best to understand the grounders culture throughout the alliance, and they appear to operate on honour and loyalty. The only law they appear to have is blood must have blood. “What happened when you gained an audience after we escaped from the Mountain?”

A softness returns to her features, “She assumed I had died in the fire and was much happier to see me than I expected. Our relationship improved, but it was still tentative. She reinstated my unit to me, and as you know I was present in the war meetings. It was a gesture of trust that she allowed my presence and advice.”

Clarke is already a few steps ahead of the story, considering how Anya had reacted to the alliance being broken. She trembles at the reminder of the Mountain, but pushes down her emotions. Clarke is determined to listen to Anya, especially after she just helped her through her panic attack. “But then you weren’t happy with her decision at the Mountain, right?”

“No. The mountain took both of my parents, I deserved blood.” She clenches her hand around her dagger. “They turned my other brother, Arin, into a reaper. Betraying the Skaikru would mean that he would not be cured.”

Clarke swallows thickly, unsure of the right thing to say. It’s horrible that Anya had real _hope_ that her brother could be healed… that he _would_ have been. Could still be? “Hold on, what happened to the reapers? We could still help, we just need enough voltage to shock their hearts, if you send Raven a message-”

“No. They are dead. We found most of them in the tunnels.”

Clarke opens and closes her mouth twice. Their hearts must have stopped when they weren't given the drug anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault, _skaigada_. Their souls are at rest now.”

They sit in silence for a few seconds, with Clarke still battling down the images that come up from talking about the mountain. “Why didn’t you tell her about tracking me down?”

“I spoke true when I said that dreams like these are not to be ignored. They take priority over any duties and are considered to come directly from _Fisheda_.”

Just when Clarke is about to ask the hundred questions that just came to mind, “I will teach you about our religion when we have begun your training. I did not tell her because I cannot bear to see her yet. She will always be family, but I need time.”

That’s when Clarke realises that maybe Anya needs her just as much as she does. Maybe mentoring and training someone new is giving her a channel for her anger and grief, just like it is for Clarke to learn and be a student. It is what each of them is best at, besides being leader and general. She had always viewed Anya as someone invincible, someone who has no emotion. It’s a lesson she keeps learning over; everyone has a breaking point. Some people are dealt cards that hurl them towards that point much faster than others.

“Thank you for telling me,” She says with sincerity.

“Rest, _skaigada_. We will rise at first light tomorrow,” Anya responds, pulling out the furs and laying them out beside the fire.

With those words, Clarke yawns and notices just how exhausted she is. Her thighs are still aching from practicing her fox walk, and the gash on her forehead is throbbing. Clarke’s mind isn’t as tired as her body though, and she begins mulling over every part of their conversation.

She considers how fixated Anya can be on one goal, reminding herself of the time that she jumped into a Dropship full of terrified delinquents with _guns_ , and without any back-up. They would have killed her had Clarke not managed to convince them otherwise. It had been reckless, and downright stupid, but Anya wanted blood for what happened at the bridge.

_We are not Grounders!_

Clarke recalls their escape from the mountain, and how Anya had refused to leave her people behind, despite there being no hope for the two of them rescuing anyone. She had even been prepared to fight a handful of reapers with nothing more than a rock in her weakened state. It’s not funny, but Clarke still has to bite back a chuckle at the warrior’s stubborn antics.

While Clarke continues to reflect on their day, she remembers wanting to ask Anya about the word she called her earlier at the lake.

“Anya?”

She hears a low hum in acknowledgement.

“What’s a ‘ _branwoda_ ’?”

She lets out a low laugh, “I believe the _gonasleng_ word for it would be an idiot.”

Clarke deems that the warrior is undeserving of a response, so she huffs and rolls over, letting sleep pull her into unconsciousness.


	4. Relief of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite short, it's just a small filler/interlude to set up the next (and much longer) chapter which I will post on Sunday.
> 
> Thank you for the responses to the last chapter, I love hearing your thoughts on the story & they really warm my heart. Hope you're all doing well!

Clarke wakes up twice from her night terrors, and each time Anya guides her to catching her breath before they turn the ending of her dream into increasingly ridiculous scenarios. The first ends with Clarke breaking her people free with insane fight skills that Anya promises to teach her, and they change the second to Clarke stepping on Cage-turned-cockroach.

It’s comforting to know that someone is watching over her and is there for her; she no longer has to fight her demons alone. It feels even better to know she is not being perceived as weak. It’s like Anya _wants_ her to experience every emotion in depth, even though it’s causing her so much pain. She makes her feel _strong_ in her vulnerability, and Clarke can’t help but think that she tried teaching the Commander the same when she was a child, only for it to be counteracted with Titus’s teachings.

Whenever thoughts of the Commander come to her mind, rage sparks in her fingertips, expanding to whirl through her entire being like a tornado. And yet, there’s a tiny flicker of sadness in her heart for the girl who experienced a pain so severe that she had to suppress any and every emotion to stop it from consuming her.

A firm shake of Clarke’s shoulder causes her to snap her eyes open.

“You have slept long enough. If we leave now we will make it to my brother’s bunker by early afternoon.”

Clarke grumbles under her breath as she sits up, wishing she could sleep a little longer. She brushes her hands through her hair a few times, trying to undo any knots when Anya hands her a couple of small leaves, instructing her to chew on them. She recognises them as mint, feeling much more refreshed and awake after munching on them for a couple of minutes.

They eat during the journey, and Clarke realises that her legs hurt even more than they did the previous day, and she groans when she recalls that muscle pain peaks 48 hours after exertion.

After many hours of trekking through the woods in relative silence, Anya leads them up a steep hill. The trees have thinned out, and Clarke is panting by the time they reach a large field plateau. She spots a lone tree right in the centre of the meadow, and she bets that the hatch to the bunker lies next to it.

As they walk across the field, Clarke notices a lightness to her chest when she looks at the wild, yellow dandelions and the contrasting chamomiles, and she swears that the grass is a brighter shade of green than before. She can see far into the distance from their height, and everything she has ever known seems so small, so insignificant. Clarke focuses on the straight-line horizon, wondering what else is out there. Are there other survivors? And do they know peace in this world?

Clarke is shaken out of her thoughts when they arrive in front of the tree. She turns to Anya with a questioning gaze and observes that she has a vacant look in her eyes, shoulders slumped slightly.

Clarke doesn’t even need to ask, anyone could tell that her grief is fresh. But still, she wants to give her an opening to talk about it, “Was this Arin’s bunker?”

Anya nods slowly in response. “This tree has grown since I last visited. He found the bunker when we were still children. It became our secret, and eventually his home in times of peace.”

Clarke listens intently, a small smile pulling at her lips at the thought of a mini-Anya.

“He planted the tree here so we would not forget where it is when we become old and forgetful,” She continues with a light sheen to her eyes, and Clarke knows that those tears will remain unshed, at least while she’s here.

Abruptly, her features harden and any trace of her emotion disappears when she bends down and pulls the handle on top of the hatch. A ladder leads the way down, and she goes first, gesturing for Clarke to follow.

She counts 20 steps down before she jumps off of the ladder and onto… wood? She was expecting concrete or metal, but it’s too dark to see anything yet.

Clarke turns to look at Anya in surprise when the entire room illuminates in a bright yellow glow. Anya is standing beside a tiny switch on the wall, and she wonders how it’s possible to have electricity in here. There must be a generator somewhere.

Only then does she turn around to take in the bunker’s interior. Clarke already feels at home here and her stomach flutters as she gazes at the beige walls that complement the dark wooden floor. On one side of the room, she makes out a dining table for four beside a sink, oven and a couple of cupboards she assumes have cutlery inside. Winding around the other corner of the room is a large, black L-shaped sofa with a rectangular table in front. Beside the sofa is a metal bookcase with many shelves, each packed with an array of... _books_.

Clarke’s eyes brighten, becoming wide and wondrous. “Oh my god, books!” She practically yells, bounding over to them and flinging her hands out.

Reading and drawing were Clarke’s favourite things to do on the Ark, besides playing chess or watching old football games with Wells. There was a small library on her station with any books that were salvaged, and she had read most of them by her 15th birthday. The database on their tablets had many more, but there’s something special about physically holding a book, flipping past each page and getting lost in the smoky, vanilla scent.

Clarke realises that she has _time_. Time, time, time. To read and simply _live._ Even if the world collapses tomorrow, she will go with the feeling of _relief._ She doesn’t know if she deserves it, but she’s here, touching something as trivial as a book after going through all nine circles of hell.

_I’m still standing. Still alive._

She’s not naïve enough to think that she can stay here forever, no, she will have to go back to her people someday. But not today, and not tomorrow. That’s enough for now.

She didn’t notice Anya approaching her, and when Clarke turns to face her, her lips are quirked up in a half-smile. “You may make more sense of them than Arin and I, there are many words we do not use, and therefore do not understand.”

Clarke can barely hear her, too transfixed on a row of books she spotted at the topmost shelf.

“Anya.” Her eyes dart at lightning speed between the top shelf and the woman watching with a raised brow. “It’s Harry Potter. All _seven_ books.” She reaches for volume one of the series, tracing her fingers over the cover. “They were my favourite back on the Ark.”

“You may bring it to the bottom level if you wish to read before sleeping. It may help.” _With the nightmares_. Clarke hears the unsaid words loud and clear. She nods and follows her when she climbs further down the original ladder.

Clarke gasps when she takes in the second level. An array of weapons line the back wall, everything from swords, daggers, bows, and other weapons Clarke doesn’t even know the name for. On each side of the room is a single bed with a curtain to drape around for privacy. A wardrobe stands against the wall at the foot of each bed. She wonders who had planned to inhabit the bunker, they must have been rich because this place is so much nicer than the bunker she and Finn had stumbled upon.

It’s obvious that Anya and her brother had decorated and refurbished it to resemble the pre-apocalypse world as little as possible. They probably fitted in the wooden floors themselves, and the thought makes her smile.

When Anya opens the wardrobe on the right, Clarke assumes that she will stay in the other bed, so she walks over and places her book under the pillow.

“Change into these clothes, _skaigada._ Yours stink, and they are unideal for training,” She says, wrinkling her nose.

Clarke wholeheartedly agrees, glad to have a fresh set of clothing. “I know, _I_ am the one wearing them.”

Anya snorts and climbs back upstairs, giving her the privacy to change. Once she is out of sight, Clarke hastily strips off her shoulder guard first, shoving it into the back of her wardrobe. Somewhere along the journey, it began to feel heavier and heavier, as if she was carrying _her_ around with her. She didn’t need that reminder so close to her, and besides, she’s not a leader anymore. It wouldn’t be right to wear something marking her as one.

She takes off her wrist guards, leather overcoat and jacket next, joined by the rest of her attire. Grounder clothing is more comfortable than she imagined, the pants are quite flexible compared to the jeans she was wearing. The buckles at her thighs are odd, but when Clarke fastens them she realises that they give her some added stability, and spots to hide daggers.

It takes her some time to figure out how to wear the grounder version of a bra, and then she throws on a black shirt that has a few patches of grey in places where it must have been torn. It flows longer down her left hip, while it stops at her waist on the right side. Finally, she slips into the new boots, surprised that they fit so well. She stares at her gun that Anya gave back to her and decides against bringing it.

Clarke wraps her old undergarments into her shirt, promising herself that she’ll burn the bundle next time they make a fire. She’s too attached to her blue jacket and jeans, clothing that makes her recognisable as _Skaikru_ , so she makes a mental note to take them with her to wash them next time she bathes.

When Clarke settles her feet back onto the first level, she spots Anya on the sofa with what appears to be a large notepad. Clarke approaches carefully, and when she is a few steps away, Anya motions her to sit down next to her.

She hands it to her, and Clarke’s heart stutters in her chest. The pages are filled with the most magnificent and intricate drawings she has ever seen. Landscapes, trees, even pictures of a younger Anya, chest puffed out in pride with a small sword in hand. The details steal her breath, she can _feel_ every nuance, every tiny shadow; the artist’s mood reflected in each page. 

“These are beautiful,” she breathes, awe colouring her tone.

Anya watches Clarke’s expression closely, and she can see it written all over the girl’s face that she herself likes to draw. The sheer admiration on her features is enough for her to make up her mind. “I would like you to fill the rest of the pages.”

Clarke blinks, a tingling sensation surging in her chest, “I… But this was your brother’s”

Sky person, sky habit of pointing out the obvious. “I am aware of that.”

“Why?” Clarke whispers, the sentiment making her feel every bit the opposite of how she perceives herself. Clarke thinks that this notepad is sacred, it’s filled with such pure, good memories - why would Anya want her tainted and cursed hands to so much as touch it?

“You remind me of him. He was a healer, and much like you, he thought with his heart. Would I be correct in assuming that you like to draw?”

“...Yes”

“Then it will help, just like the reading.”

Clarke resists throwing herself at Anya in a fierce hug; she knows she’d be thrown to the floor with a knife at her throat before she can even blink at such a sudden movement. She’s learned that the grounders are not as tactile as her people are.

The warrior beside her has done more for her in the last two days than she could ever have wished for, and her heart swells with the warmth of gratitude. She had been stubborn and rude, but Anya had not given up on her. She _stayed_. And Clarke is sure that if she had kept refusing, she still would not have left her side.

_What would I have become if she had not found me?_

“Thank you,” Clarke says instead, trying to pour every ounce of her gratitude into those two words, and it seems to reach Anya as her features soften in recognition.

Their weighted silence is quickly broken though when a smirk returns to Anya's face, “You will not be thanking me tomorrow when we begin your strength training.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Way to ruin the moment”

“Come, I will teach you how to make some snares. It is much easier to make animals come to you, rather than track and hunt them.”

“Sounds good,” Clarke says, placing the notebook on the table with care, noticing a jar of assorted pencils. Her fingers are already twitching with the familiar need to capture everything she sees.

* * *

It’s late afternoon by the time that Clarke has learned to make a snare, and Anya watches her while she makes five more to ensure she has the technique right. The days have been getting shorter, and Clarke is already anticipating the sunset, she hasn’t had the time to truly appreciate their beauty yet. And after all, being on top of a huge hill has its advantages.

Anya shows Clarke the best spots to put the snares - under bushes and between trees, and they leave them in different locations close to the bunker.

Eventually, Clarke finds herself sitting at the dining table, eating the rest of the meat and berries that Anya had gathered for their trip.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Clarke asks. She likes knowing how the day will look, it's a luxury she was robbed of the second she crashed to the ground.

Routine and predictability anchor her, it’s what kept her from going insane in solitary; the set siren that would wake her each morning, the meals that came at the same time of every day, and the times in between where she would draw, or let her imagination run wild with scenarios she knew would never come to fruition. Clarke has endured enough surprises and spontaneity in the past month to last a lifetime.

“We will rise at first light to check the traps we placed today. If they did not catch anything, we will hunt our breakfast.” Anya's gaze bores into her then, smirking, “Then we shall begin strengthening your muscles. Your body is weak, _skaigada_. But not for much longer. In the afternoon of each day, I will teach you Trigedasleng, it will be beneficial to know. You may have the evening for yourself to rest.”

Clarke nods in response. She’s looking forward to learning the language of the grounders, intrigued by where it came from and how it developed. The strength training... well, she doesn't want to think of that for as long as possible.

She spends the rest of the evening sitting against the tree above the bunker, sketchbook in hand. She stares at the blank, unruled page, fingers fidgeting with her father’s watch. 

The sunset is as dazzling as she thought it would be, the deep orange spreading far and wide over the horizon. It’s a strange thing, that there is such beauty before the inevitable darkness, and with that thought, Clarke loses herself in the fiery shades that appear on the page, mind completely free from any other thought.

Once the sun has set, Clarke’s eyes burn from focusing on the same thing for so long, and her limbs are riddled with exhaustion. She stumbles down to the bottom level and spots another set of clothing on her bed, and after feeling the soft fabric, she’s sure they’re the grounder version of pyjamas. Once she’s changed, Clarke slides under the furs and is soon overcome with sleep, feeling safer than she has in a long, long time.


	5. Moment of Truth

Clarke estimates that two weeks have passed since her first night with her new mentor. Each day is packed with intense training sessions to get her stamina and strength up, Anya had made it quite clear that she wouldn’t let Clarke lay her eyes on a weapon before she is strong enough to use one. With a grimace, she remembers their first session, and how she had cried actual _tears_.

_“Do you see the fallen house at the bottom of the hill?” Anya asks, her long overcoat and war paint on for the first time since she found her, and it leaves Clarke a little anxious for what may come in the next few days. Maybe that’s exactly what the general intended._

_She eyes the place Anya is pointing to, “You mean the pile of rubble and rocks?”_

_Anya remains stoic when she answers, “Yes. You will carry each piece to the top of this hill. It is important to keep your back straight to avoid injury.”_

_“I-Are you serious? That'll take hours,” Clarke gulps, gaze fixed on the enormous pile of debris. This is not what she envisioned when Anya talked about ‘strength’ training._

_Anya raises an eyebrow, wholly unamused, “Do not question me, skaigada. I do not joke about such things.” She waves her hand, “Begin. The faster you do it, the less running I will make you do after.”_

_Running? And after?!_

_Clarke sets her jaw and hikes down the hill with new determination. She’s always been competitive, she likes challenges… if she sees this as one, it can’t be that bad. Right?_

_Wrong._

_It takes Clarke two-and-a-half hours of dragging each piece of rubble to the pile that began to form on the top of the hill. She’s covered in dirt, sweating and panting, legs trembling and arms numb with blisters forming on her bloody hands, and Clarke is so relieved to have completed the task, she thinks she might cry or collapse, maybe both._

_Anya casually strolls over to her, as if she hadn’t just heaved a small house up a hill. She nods in approval, handing her a waterskin, “Drink”_

_Clarke relishes in both the appraisal and the water, desperate to quench her thirst almost as much as her desire to please the warrior. She drains the water with a few deep_ _gulps and hands it back to Anya._

_"Good, you may rest for no more than ten minutes. Then, you will carry it back down again.”_

_Clarke’s mouth falls open, body going stiff. She must have misheard... “What?”_

_"You will carry the remains back to their original place,” Anya replies, pronouncing each word slowly with an unforgiving smirk in place._

_“Anya, I just carried-” She starts, but her mentor turns and walks back towards the bunker._

_Clarke briefly considers running away to chance her survival in the woods once more. She has more knowledge on how to trap and skin an animal, but she knows she’ll be found. She did sign up for this, after all._

_Clarke doesn’t take the break that Anya offered her. She knows that if she sits down, then there’s a good chance she won’t find either the strength or willpower to get back up._

_And so, she begins to move the debris back down, and by the time she has just a few more left, she cries. What for, she isn’t sure. Relief? Exhaustion? Pain? Pride at being able to do the impossible? It’s a mixture of them all. That’s how Anya finds her, hysterical and lying on the grass, a mixture of sobs and laughter._

_She rolls her eyes and grunts, “Why am I always left with the dramatic ones?” which only boosts Clarke’s delirium._

She spent the following couple of days resting. Clarke couldn’t even pick up her book for more than a few seconds without her arms shaking, and walking was out of the question. Instead, Anya made her do a series of stretches and an extended walk that had her whimpering in pain all the same.

But from then, every morning she completed the same task of carrying the debris up and back down, and it became _slightly_ easier as the days wore on. If only because she knew what to expect. Other than that, they go on a long run each day to improve her stamina.

Anya also put her on a stricter diet with plenty of meat and nuts for protein, and after only eight days, her biceps were a little more defined. Clarke bathes each afternoon at a small river close by, and then she joins Anya in the first floor of the bunker to learn some Trigedasleng. She snorts at the thought of how far she had wound up the warrior in their first few lessons. 

_“’Ai laik Klark kom Skaikru’ means I am Clarke of the Sky People, it is how you will introduce yourself.”_

_“So it’s not ‘Ai laik Skaigada kom Skaikru’?” Clarke asks with an impish smirk. Secretly, she had become very fond of Anya’s nickname for her. She always viewed them as something you only give to people close to you._

_“Do not test me, or I will make you carry the rocks today for a second time,”_

_Clarke gulps at that, knowing when to relent. “Understood.”_

_“Introduce yourself.”_

_“Ai laik Clarke kom Skaikru,”_

_“You are saying your name wrong. It is ‘Klark’ in Trigedasleng,”_

_“Klarrke.. Klaark-no… Klorke, definitely not.. Kl-“_

_“Enough! I cannot listen to that for another second. Practice it when I am not around you.”_

_Clarke laughs then, and it’s the first time such a genuine sound has come from her in… who knows how long._

_“Admit it, Anya. This is hilarious,”_

_“You Sky People have a sense of humour that leaves much to be desired,” She grunts, but Clarke can see the amusement shining in her eyes. “Something you may say after introducing yourself is ‘what do you want?’ which is ‘chit yu gaf’"_

_Clarke knows she shouldn’t push her buttons any further, but with a barely concealed smile, “Shit yu gaf”_

_“We are done for the day.”_

_“But-“_

_“We will try again tomorrow.”_

_Patience had never been Anya’s strong suit, Clarke thinks when she watches her climb out of the bunker._

Anya had been pushing Clarke emotionally as much as she had physically. Each night she guides her through a meditation session, and at first, Clarke wasn’t able to make it through two minutes before getting intense flashbacks that ended in a panic attack.

But now, she can make it to seven minutes without feeling that her lungs are caving in, and she is quite proud of that. Anya had given her a sentence to repeat mentally—‘ _Kom graun, oso na graun op. Kom folau, oso na gyon op’_ , and whenever her mind drifts to dangerous territory, she always brings it back to that one sentence. It gives her an anchor in her own mind, a safe place to wander to when her demons come knocking.

Clarke is still plagued by nightmares, not that she was expecting any less. Her body may feel better than it ever has, but the relationship she has with herself will take much longer to heal. The reading, drawing and meditation are planting the right seeds though, and after all, you reap what you sow.

On top of the nightmares, she still gets triggered by random things that catch her off guard. It can be anything from a light switch to a small ball that she found in one of the cupboards. But each time, Anya is there to catch her, to hold her from behind and whisper reassurances in her ear until she battles off the voice in her head that tells her she deserves none of this.

Sometime in the second week, she opened up about the things that haunt her, starting with her time in solitary on the Ark, and how they arrested her Dad. It was after they had said goodnight, curtains drawn around the beds and laying in the darkness that Clarke had the urge to tell Anya about everything. She _wanted_ her to know everything.

From then, each night she talked about something. About Wells, and how he protected her from hating her mother. About killing Atom and feeling in part responsible for the culling because she got distracted by Finn and had not anticipated Bellamy destroying the radio. Eventually, she spoke of killing Finn and letting the missile hit TonDC. Anya never questioned her, never judged her. She did exactly what Clarke needed her to do; _she listened_. The only time she would speak is for clarification on certain things.

It’s an incredible relief to share and voice the things which torment her, and Clarke is finally starting to process and compartmentalise; separate fact from her emotions. It’s as if the burden she is shouldering isn’t hers alone to bear any longer. She knows she has a long way to go, but the hope and optimism are there.

During the day, Anya follows her own training regime, including the motions for fighting, which Clarke often watches when she comes into view while hauling up another piece of debris. She brings the heaviest up first, so it’s kind of like a break when carrying up the remaining pieces.

On one particular morning, Anya brings Clarke hunting to build on her growing tracking skills. She has improved on walking silently in the woods, having practiced each morning to check the snares. Clarke has her gun fastened to her hip, it’s the only weapon she knows how to use at the moment.

Clarke quickly picks up on the trail of a deer by noticing some footprints in the dirt, and her mentor nods to her in approval.

They follow in silence until suddenly, a loud growl rips through their surroundings.

Their breathing picks up rapidly, eyes darting between the trees to look for the source.

Clarke’s eyes widen when she sees a black panther circling them in the distance. Dread courses through her veins, and in record speed, she unfastens her gun and pulls off the safety. There’s a shrill sound of metal beside her as Anya unsheathes her signature twin blades.

“As soon as I engage it, you will _run_.”

Clarke has to resist rolling her eyes, unwilling to take her gaze off of the beast that is sizing them up. “I’m _not_ leaving you, Anya!”

The panther apparently decides that they are worthy to be its next meal. With a loud hiss, it leaps through the woods, getting closer and closer.

Clarke fires two shots, one hitting their mark on its side.

That only seems to anger it further. 

In one great lunge, it hurtles itself at them, claws out and mouth open in a menacing snarl.

The two of them dive to opposite sides, landing roughly, while the panther skids into the space between them. Anya recovers first, twirling her blades in an impressive move with a thick war cry meant to attract it towards herself.

The panther dives towards her, and Anya’s blades are useless against it.

Just as Clarke hurls herself to her feet, she watches Anya get knocked to the ground beneath the fierce animal, letting out a groan of pain.

_Bang._

Clarke fires a round of shots into the beast’s back, making it whimper loudly, and she finishes it with a resolute shot to its head.

As soon as she’s sure that the beast is dead, she staggers towards it and pushes it off of her mentor.

Clarke drops to her knees and looks for any visible injuries, only finding three bloody scrapes down the general’s arm. It doesn’t seem too deep, and she’s more worried about a possible head injury.

“Anya? Are you okay?”

Anya sits up, coming back to herself. She must have been in shock, the adrenaline still coursing through her. “I am fine, _skaigada_.” She smiles, “You fought well. I believe it is time to begin combat training.”

Of course, Anya would think of training after almost becoming a panther’s breakfast. And of course, it would take Clarke killing one to kick-start fight training. Her heart swells with affection for her mentor, and she can’t help but throw her arms around the woman’s shoulders. This could have ended much worse for them. 

Anya freezes for a split second, but brings her arms around the blonde's waist in a reassuring embrace. Clarke closes her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent and thanking whatever powers there are that she wasn't hurt too badly, or worse. They sit like that for a few moments until Anya moves back.

“Come, it will take us a while to carry it home.”

Clarke groans at the thought of pulling the panther up the hill, but another part of her hangs on the word ‘home’. There’s a saying from the old world that home is where the heart is. Her heart is still recovering... but the thought of curling into the sofa to read or draw while Anya is nearby sharpening another one of her knives gives her an unusual sense of warmth. Or maybe it’s contentment?

They make it all of four steps before Clarke perks up, hearing a faint squeaking somewhere to her left. Her brow furrows, and she squints, trying to see where the sound may have come from. “Did you hear that?”

Anya glances at her but doesn’t stop. “Hear what?”

“Wait.” Clarke pauses, dropping the part of the panther she was holding. “There it is again!”

“I am in no mood for your games, _skaigada._ ”

“No, Anya, this isn’t a game. Listen!”

They stand in silence until she hears the squeak again, and this time, Clarke jogs toward the sound, ignoring Anya's string of curse words that she now understands, courtesy to her expanding Trigedasleng vocabulary.

The persistent squeaking is getting closer, and Clarke breaks into a run. Soon, she gets to the river that runs close to their hill, and she turns in circles trying to find the source of the sound. Eventually, she wanders to a small alcove.

Clarke’s eyebrows raise and her heart melts when she sees two tiny, black panthers jumping around each other in the small space. She crouches with caution when they notice her, tilting their heads in curiosity. Clarke sits down just inside the alcove, crossing her legs and holding out her hand.

The more confident of the two cubs approaches Clarke, sniffing her hand. She waits patiently, and when it doesn’t back away again, she pets the top of its head.

A low purring rumbles from the cub and she keeps petting it when it nudges the side of its face against her hand. The other of the two watches intently before sniffing Clarke’s other hand that she holds out, and soon, she has won over both of them, with one settling in the space between her crossed legs, and the other clawing its way onto her thigh. In that moment, she feels it deep in her bones that she won’t be parting with them anytime soon.

She estimates that they are a little over two weeks old, judging by their eyes being open and blue. They’re about as big as the distance from her wrist to her elbow, maybe even smaller.

“Clarke?”

“Clarke!”

“Over here,” She says softly, not wanting to scare her new friends.

When Anya comes face to face with her, she does a double take. Clarke doesn’t know whether she finds this amusing, or outrageous, but judging by the high arch of her brow, it’s likely the latter.

“Their mother is dead, Anya. We have to take care of them. They won’t be able to survive by themselves for at least a year.”

“No, _skaigada_. It is better to end their fight now, we cannot raise them. They would kill us in our sleep.”

Clarke scoffs, daring anyone to remove the two cubs from her lap. “We are _not_ killing them. Look at them, Anya. They won’t hurt us if we take care of them, animals can form strong bonds with people. In the old days, most families had a cat or dog, some even had fish and hamsters…”

“This is unreasonable. They are too young to eat meat, how will you prevent them from starving?”

Clarke shakes her head, thinking of her biology classes on the Ark. “It’s easy, we just need to make a trip to the village and get some goat’s milk, eggs, sugar or honey and then we’ll get gelatin from the bones of the mother. That’s all we need to make a substitute.”

Anya looks like she is about to protest, but suddenly the cub that was on Clarke’s thigh jumps down and approaches her. It sits before her and lets out a high-pitched squeak, and to Anya’s crumbling resolve, it sinks its claws into her boots in an attempt to climb up her leg. 

“You are responsible for them,” She growls, before leaning down to remove the cub’s paws from her, giving it a little shove in Clarke’s direction. The panther seems undeterred, though, and hops after Anya.

Clarke looks down at the one that remained in her lap, rubbing the side of its face. “Looks like your brother has found a new friend, huh? Maybe he’ll make her less grumpy.”

She sighs and gets up, hurrying after Anya once she makes sure that the cub is following her.

“What are we going to do about their mother?”

“I will carry her the rest of the way and you should bring them both to the bunker. It seems they can feel she is no longer with them. They would not be following us otherwise.” 

Clarke nods and makes a clicking noise with her lips to get the attention of the cub on Anya’s side. He only leaves her side when he spots his brother slightly ahead of Clarke, and they begin chasing each other.

“If they pose any problems, I will not hesitate to end this.”

“Really? Because I think you _might_ already be softening up to them,” Clarke teases before jogging after the incessant squeaking noises. At least they’re going in the right direction.

_Kom graun, oso na graun op. Kom folau, oso na gyon op_ \- From the Earth, we will grow. From the ashes, we will rise

* * *

Once they get to the hatch, Clarke cradles one of them against her shoulder and climbs down, placing him on the sofa. She quickly goes back up to get the second, and settles down on the furs with them, waiting for Anya to return.

The same one from before settles on her lap, and she pets its head while the other nuzzles into her side.

“I’m gonna have to come up with some names for both of you, won’t I?”

She gets a barely audible peep in response.

Clarke leans her head back, dozing off while her hands still tussle in the cub’s fur. A little while later, she is woken by the sound of the hatch opening and a familiar grunt. Anya comes into view a couple seconds later, jumping down from the ladder in one languid movement. She fixes Clarke with a glare, clearly not pleased with the turn in events.

That’s when Clarke remembers that a panther had knocked her down not even an hour ago, and suddenly her foul mood makes a lot more sense. She slowly lifts the cub on her lap and places him next to his brother before crossing the room and pulling out a chair from the dining table.

“Sit down, I need to check that wound on your arm.”

Anya rolls her eyes, “I am fine.”

“Sit. Down.” She pins her with as fierce of a glare as she can muster, feeling like she’s dealing with a child in the Ark’s medical bay than a grown warrior. She lifts an eyebrow for added effect, and it seems to work as Anya sighs before removing her long overcoat and shirt, dropping into the offered chair.

The wound is deeper than she originally predicted… Anya must have a high pain tolerance. Clarke grimaces when she remembers how Anya _bit_ out the tracker in her arm after escaping the mountain. Yep, _definitely_ a high pain tolerance.

Clarke quickly grabs the medical kit from a cupboard and pulls out the tab of alcohol swabs and a bandage. The wound is in the shape of three scrapes running down from her shoulder to the inside of her arm. At least it will leave a badass scar.

“This is going to sting,” Clarke says, beginning to clean out the nasty gashes and mumbling an apology when the general hisses, gripping the chair until her knuckles are white. Blood is still seeping out of the middle cut, and Clarke knows it needs stitches.

“Do you have a headache?”

Anya shakes her head.

“Dizziness? Or nausea?”

Another shake of the head.

“You’re lucky there was a pile of leaves to soften the fall, or you’d definitely have a concussion,” Clarke says, pulling out a needle and sterilising it in the flame of a candle. Anya’s eyes widen, flinching a little. Clarke remembers when she tried to save Tris and she needed her blood, and she had a similar reaction then to a needle. Plus, being trapped in the mountain and being prodded with them must leave some traumatic memories with the warrior.

Clarke tries to appeal to Anya’s logic, having found that it has worked best in the past. “The cut in the middle needs stitches, or you’ll risk infection.”

Anya regards her for a few seconds before the usual hardness returns to her features, nodding in acquiescence.

Clarke gets a string of cotton and sets to work, wishing she had some sort of anaesthetic. It must be even more painful because the skin is already irritated from the other wounds.

Since she has nothing to numb the pain, she tries to distract Anya in typical Skaikru fashion; perpetual talking.

“You know, I think I just came up with perfect names for our new friends,” She says, motioning to the sleeping cubs on their couch. “There’s a story I read about in one of the history books on the Ark. It was set in the ancient Roman times where a princess gave birth to two twin boys, Romulus and Remus.”

She pauses to check if Anya is listening, and judging by the wince once she stops, the talking is helping. “The father of the princess was the king of the lands, and he was worried that the boys would overthrow him one day. So, he placed them in a basket and dropped them in a river, thinking that they would die quickly. But then they were saved by a wolf who took care of them and protected them from other animals, and eventually, a shepherd discovered them and raised them as his own.”

She’s done with the stitches by now, and she rubs a paste with antibacterial properties onto the gashes before wrapping a bandage around her arm. Still, Anya looks at her expectantly.

“Is that all to the story?”

“What? Oh! No. When they grew up, the king captured Remus, and he discovered his true identity. Meanwhile, Romulus gathered a small army of shepherds to rescue his brother, and together they killed the king.”

“And then they became the kings together?”

“No, I mean, they were offered to rule the land together, but they wanted to build their own city instead. But then they couldn’t see eye to eye on which hill to start their city, so they agreed to wait for a sign from the Gods. Apparently, they both got a sign, and each claimed to win. Eventually, Romulus started building a wall around his hill without Remus.”

“Let me guess, they both tried to build a city that is more powerful than the other, igniting a war.”

“Nope, it’s much more stupid than that,” Clarke chuckles. “Remus got jealous and jumped over Romulus’s wall to show him how easy it is to cross. Then Romulus got pissed off and killed him… his own brother: The End.” She claps her hands together to emphasize how anticlimactic the ending is.

Anya barks out a laugh, “Fools. They should have built a city so great that it spread over both hills.”

“I’m glad you agree with me,” Clarke snickers.

“Did his city prosper, at least?”

“Yeah, he named it Rome, and it became one of the most powerful cities for over 1,000 years.”

Anya raises an eyebrow, “You want to name our _natstepa_ after these two _branwodas_?”

“I was thinking we could name them Rome and Remus, yes. Think of it like redeeming the names, giving them a new legend.”

“I am not opposed to the idea. One problem, they look identical.”

“I think we will be able to tell them apart based on who they hang around. Remus seems to have taken a liking to me, and judging by the way Rome was following you earlier, it’s the same with him.”

As if on cue, a demanding squeak echoes through the bunker.

Clarke walks over to the cub that is standing at the edge of the sofa, unable to hop down by itself. “Let’s test out my theory.”

She picks him up and places him in the middle of the room before going back to the sofa, a few feet away from Anya.

The cub looks at Clarke before spotting the general still sitting on the chair, and when he does, he immediately scurries over to her, re-sinking his claws into her boots.

It’s adorable, and Clarke can’t help but laugh at the cute display contrasted with Anya’s reluctance to accept it. “Yep, that’s Rome.”

Anya picks him up and gingerly places him on her lap. His excited squealing only increases at the gesture, and he sits down on her thighs, staring at the dumbfounded general.

“You are hungry?” She grunts, raising an eyebrow.

_Squeak._

“Get ready, _skaigada_. We will get everything you need from the village.”

Clarke has to bite back another bout of laughter and starts descending to the lower level to disguise herself. They don’t want anyone to know of her whereabouts, not until she’s ready to take on the title of _Wanheda_. It’s too risky to leave her hair blonde, so she rubs a gel into it that changes it to a dark red. Lastly, Clarke changes into baggy clothing that covers her figure, as well as wrapping a shawl around her head. Better safe than sorry.

Anya changes into similar clothing and hides her head under another shawl. They leave their cubs in the bunker, much to Rome’s disappointment, and begin the hour-long walk to the village.

“Tomorrow we will begin combat training, and instead of Trigedasleng, I will begin teaching you about our religion and customs. It would also be beneficial to learn about each of the twelve clans."

“I’m not about to become a grounder politician,” Clarke mumbles, although agreeing that it would be good to know more about the clans. Anya hasn’t mentioned _Wanheda_ or what it means since telling her about the name, and Clarke thinks it’s because she wanted to give her some time before adding to the load on her shoulders.

“We will see.”

_Natstepa -_ Black panther  
 _Branwoda -_ Idiot

* * *

When they arrive at the trading post in the middle of the village, Anya takes the lead and asks for the ingredients that Clarke listed off earlier.

While the trader gets their items, the two look around at the objects on sale.

That is, until two hulking figures with white war paint enter the building.

Anya goes rigid beside Clarke, “ _Jok”_

She grabs Clarke’s forearm, and together they turn away, pretending to study the furs on the wall. The trader comes out to greet the new customers, and they get straight down to business.

“ _Yu don sin disha plan in?”_

Clarke takes a second to translate what the man is saying, but when she does, she knows that the woman he is looking for is herself. She chances a glance at her mentor, but she simply shakes her head. Their disguises appear to be effective; the shopkeeper denies having seen her.

“ _Oso na komba raun hir,”_ One of the men growls in obvious frustration. They stomp out of the shop, leaving a tense atmosphere in their wake.

Clarke recovers first, clearing her throat and turning around. Anya is quickly at her side, handing over meat from their panther kill in exchange for the milk, eggs and honey.

They walk in silence for twenty minutes until both are absolutely sure that they aren’t being followed before Clarke feels safe enough to ask the questions that were close to bursting out once the men left.

“What the hell does this mean?”

“This means that I must train you to fight immediately. We will start today,” She responds gruffly.

“Who were they? And why are they looking for me?”

Anya's eyes flash with contempt, “ _Azgeda_. I expected to have much more time before this would happen.”

“More time before _what_ would happen?”

“There’s a bounty on you, Clarke.”

“A bounty?”

“ _Sha._ I do not know if it is just within _Azgeda_ or the whole _kongeda_.”

“Great. I had two weeks, two fucking weeks to get over-“

Anya whirls on her, knocking her against a tree, and Clarke lets out a surprised yelp.

“Do not be ungrateful,” She hisses, “There are leaders that could never have done what you did. Leaders that would be killed for even thinking of running away.”

The words hang between them heavily, the tension palpable. Clarke knows exactly what, or rather _who,_ Anya is referring to when she speaks of ‘leaders’.

“ _Certain_ leaders didn’t have to commit genocide because they have no _honour_ ,” she spits back, regretting the words the second they left her mouth. She shouldn’t be taking it out on Anya, she doesn’t deserve that.

_Too late._

“Lexa made a choice, and she must live with the consequences. As do you. There was no ‘right’ decision to make that night for either of you. You must learn to accept that.”

With that, Anya turns around and walks away.

“It was personal to me,” Clarke mutters, the familiar burning behind her eyes threatening to break her apart.

She’s surprised when Anya faces her again, not having expected her to hear that last part.

“I know, _skaigada_.” Her features soften considerably, “I know. I am not asking you to forgive, but I know her well. It is not only your heart that was broken that night.”

“I highly doubt that.” Clarke bites back, knowing it sounded weak. She can’t let herself hang onto or believe Anya’s words. How can someone love you and _still_ leave you to die?

_Woah, love? Jumping the gun a little.._

“Come, we have idled here for too long.” She turns and starts walking again, calling back, “Besides, we have two _natstepa_ to feed.”

Clarke can’t help but smile at the thought of the cubs, and so she hurries after Anya. She’s quite proud of herself for not having a panic attack at mentioning that night, and maybe, she could be ready to talk about it soon. Not yet, but soon.

  
_Jok_ \- Fuck  
 _Yu don sin disha plan in? -_ Have you seen this woman?  
 _Oso na komba raun hir -_ We will be back  
 _Azgeda -_ Ice Nation  
 _Kongeda -_ Coalition 

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Clarke to make the milk, and she’s quite satisfied when Rome and Remus lap up the liquid. The rest is in a large flask which Clarke puts beside the tree above the bunker. It’s cold enough outside to keep it from going off. As she washes her hair in the river to get the red dye out, her conversation with Anya is on repeat in her head. 

The more she thinks about it, the heavier the boulder of guilt sits in her stomach.

When Clarke returns to the bunker, she steels herself and climbs down the ladder with her resolve in mind.

“Anya?”

She receives the usual grunt in response.

“I’m sorry.”

That catches her attention comically fast, and Clarke would make a comment about getting whiplash if she wasn’t so intent on getting out what she needs to say.

“I wasn’t trying to sound ungrateful. I-I don’t think words can describe how much I appreciate what you have done for me so far. And I know that I shouldn’t take this time for granted. I’m lucky to have people in Camp Jaha that can lead in my absence, and that they won’t hold it against me,” Clarke says, rushing it all out in one breath.

“I think hearing that people are searching for me.. It gave me a slap back to reality.” Clarke plays with her father’s watch, dropping her gaze to it, “I’ve been so focused on processing the past that I forgot the present.”

Anya nods in response and motions to the spot on the ground in front of where she is sitting on the couch.

“Sit.”

Clarke doesn’t question it and plops to the floor.

The warrior begins to comb through her hair gently, getting rid of the knots. Clarke sighs and relaxes into the feeling, she always loved it when people played with her hair. She glances at the two cubs curled together in sleep, and her heart soars in her chest.

“Today I will begin to teach you to be a warrior. That means you must look like one,” Anya says, and Clarke thinks that she’s started braiding a strand of her hair.

“The first part of your training was more than simply building muscle. I was testing your mental strength and resilience just as much as your physical.”

Clarke winces when one pull to her head is a bit harsher than the others.

“I accept your apology for earlier, but not for focusing on yourself. You have the privilege of doing so, and it would be foolish not to.”

“You have done well, _skaigada_. Not many would remain standing after what you have endured. It would honour me to train you into a warrior.”

It’s amazing how Anya always knows what to say to Clarke to make her feel better. Clarke needed to hear that so badly, that it’s _okay_ to prioritise herself for once. That it’s _okay_ to take some time. That it’s okay to _not_ be okay. Clarke has come to view Anya highly, and she holds her opinions close to her heart. 

A tear slides down her cheek, not knowing how else to express these thoughts, but as always, Anya knows what she’s thinking without needing to say it.

She pats her shoulder indicating she’s done with the braids, and Clarke wishes she had a mirror.

Clarke turns and summons all of her thoughts as she stares straight into her eyes, “ _Mochof, Onya”_

“ _Pro, Klark,”_ She replies with a slow nod. “We will begin with hand-to-hand combat”

“So, I won’t get beaten with a stick today?”

“Make no mistake, you will still be beaten.”

Clarke laughs, “I’m sure I will.”

  
_Mochof -_ Thank you  
 _Pro -_ You're welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was excited to finally post this chapter to introduce their panther cubs, and next time we'll find out more about the grounder religion & how Lexa is doing back in Polis. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	6. Breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading & for the kudos/comments for the last chapters, I really love hearing your thoughts on the story as it progresses. 
> 
> This chapter picks up right after the last one ended, I hope you enjoy it!

Anya paces up and back before Clarke, occasionally pinning her with a fierce gaze. Rome is hot on her heels, always one step behind her. They make quite the pair. Remus faithfully stays seated beside Clarke, never taking his eyes off her for more than a few seconds at a time.

“The most important part of any fight is maintaining your balance. Without it, you cannot defend or attack.”

“Put your feet shoulder-width apart and bend your knees like you do to walk silently.”

Clarke does as she is told, and the general gives a sharp nod.

“Mental balance is just as important. If you fight with fear and anger dictating your moves, you have already lost.”

“The most basic stance is the fighter’s stance.” She demonstrates it, placing one leg in front of the other and raising both fists before her head. Clarke mimics it as best she can. “Your thumbs should be on the outside, or they will break, and you should not clench your fists too tightly. Keep your elbows close together. _Os.”_

Anya spends the next few minutes lecturing Clarke about the most vulnerable points in the body before they do a bunch of stretches followed by a ‘light’ warm-up which leaves Clarke breathless all the same.

“For the rest of this session, you will learn how to fall without hurting yourself.”

Clarke gulps, already imagining how black and blue her body will be after learning how to _fall_.

“That way, if you lose your balance or are thrown down in a fight, you will recover quickly. The first thing you must remember is to exhale on impact, it will help your body absorb the shock.”

During the following two hours, they go through four different falling techniques, which involves Clarke being thrown around like a rag doll until she gets it right. She can already sense the bruises marring her entire body, especially the sides of her back and butt. They do each at a snail’s pace at first to get the motion right, then a little faster until they work up to full combat speed. It’s late afternoon by the time she’s reasonably confident in using each, and when to.

Anya seems pleased with her progress, nodding in approval, “Very good, _skaigada._ You learn faster than I expected.”

Clarke snorts, “You know, you have a talent for making compliments sound like insults.”

“It’s the other way around,” She responds with a smirk, turning away to walk to the hatch.

“Hey!” Clarke scowls, jogging to catch up with the retreating warrior.

Once she gets close, Anya swivels at lightning speed and Clarke barely has time to execute her standing side fall.

“ _That_ is worthy of a compliment. Always be ready for the unexpected.”

The cub beside the general squeaks enthusiastically, and she looks down at him, nodding.

“You will be a warrior too, Rome. I do not doubt it.”

Another excited squeal, and Clarke smiles despite the aches covering her body. It’s a lot easier to handle than the muscle pain she experienced at first, and she’s grateful that Anya made her carry those rocks at first, or else she’d have both at the same time.

Clarke looks down at Remus, and they share a mischievous exchange where she knows exactly what he is about to do. He slowly creeps up behind Rome, and the next second a strangled cry comes from the cub as he is engaged in a surprise attack.

Anya huffs, her own cub was definitely _not_ ready for the unexpected.

“Maybe tomorrow you should train him instead of me. He seems to need it more,” Clarke muses.

“ _Shof op.”_

The laughter that Clarke was stifling escapes, a warmth blooming in her chest as they descend the ladder, each carrying a bundle of black fur.

* * *

When Clarke wakes up that night from her usual nightmares and subsequent panic attack, a warm weight settles in her lap. It anchors her while she desperately repeats the mantra Anya gave her.

Inhale, _Kom graun, oso na graun op._ Exhale, _Kom folau, oso na gyon op._

Inhale, _Kom graun, oso na graun op._ Exhale, _Kom folau, oso na gyon op._

Inhale, _Kom graun, oso na graun op._ Exhale, _Kom folau, oso na gyon op._

A scratchy tongue nips across her hands, tickling her a little, and she opens her eyes, noticing Remus looking at her with his own wide, blue gaze. If he wasn’t a panther, she’d think there is concern in them.

She gets her breathing under control in record time, gaining comfort from drawing circles in the cub’s fur and his subsequent purring.

In recent days, Anya had given Clarke some time to ground herself without any help. If it took too long, she’d sit with her and guide her through, but on a couple of nights, she had calmed herself down.

Clarke lies back down on her side, pulling Remus against her chest. He lets out a contented peep, nuzzling his nose into Clarke’s neck, and it doesn’t take her long to fall asleep once more.

* * *

Over the next several days, Anya teaches Clarke everything from how to throw, takedown, choke and dislocate an opponent, as well as defend against each. It’s a lot of technical work, going over and over each move until it becomes muscle memory, and eventually at full speed.

Clarke is a fast learner and mostly takes everything in stride. She’s found a certain enjoyment in it, trying to anticipate Anya’s moves and using her new knowledge to get out of whatever she throws at her. It’s painful, sure, but she’s becoming more and more confident each day in her fighting skills.

Rome and Remus make everything a lot more enjoyable, for both of them. They add an element of innocence and amusement that was lacking before, and Clarke knows that Anya would never admit it, but she’s caught her being uncharacteristically soft with the pair of them when she thought Clarke wasn’t looking.

_When Clarke climbs up from their bedroom, she stops once her head peaks into the next level. She spots Anya sitting on the couch with both cubs sat in front of her. They seem fascinated with whatever she is saying, and Clarke strains her ears to listen without being discovered._

_“And that is when I pierced my sword through his heart. The battle was won, and the Trikru regained control of the border.”_

_Clarke watches as she pets both of their heads at the same time._

_“Ai fyucha,” she coos. “I will teach you both to hunt one day. It is an important skill for a natstepa.”_

_Clarke is having a tough time as it is to contain her laughter. She never would have imagined the words 'my babies' coming from the stoic and hard-faced warrior. So, of course, her body betrays her. She stumbles when adjusting her grip on the ladder, and Anya snaps her head to look at her._

_Caught red-handed, Clarke thinks as she lets her laughter bubble through her throat._

_“You will not speak of this to a soul or I will slit your throat, branwoda.”_

_“Understood,” Clarke rasps out in response._

On one evening after training and bathing, Anya decides it’s time to teach Clarke the religion on the ground. As usual, they sit opposite each other at the dining table, and occasionally the general will stand up and pace.

“It is time for you to learn more about the title of _Wanheda_ , and how to wield the power it gives.”

Clarke is still uncomfortable at the thought of gaining ‘power’ for her crimes - it’s downright wrong. “And you call me the dramatic one.”

“Clarke, I would advise you to take this seriously. I know you dislike the title or the consequences of it, but you must learn to use it to your advantage. If not for yourself, then for your people.”

Whenever Anya uses her actual name, she knows it’s a lost cause. Besides, she kinda has a point. Clarke knows that one day she will go back to her people, seeing the time here as a grace period to get herself back together, whatever that might look like. “You’re right. I want to learn.”

The general nods and launches into her lecture. “In _Trihayon_ , there are three gods, as in the name. There is _Fisheda,_ the Commander of Creation. The last known incarnation was _Bekka Pramheda_ , who created nightblood so that my people could survive.”

“Hold on, nightblood?”

“Those who are born with black blood. They are called _natblida_ in Trigedasleng.”

“I remember that word… you used it to describe the Commander a while ago.”

“ _Sha._ Only a nightblood can become Commander. They are brought to Polis when discovered to train for the conclave after their current Commander’s death.”

Clarke furrows her brows, muscles tensing. “Anya, what exactly happens in a conclave?”

Anya exhales audibly, “They fight to the death.”

“Are you fucking serious? A group of children that are raised together.. end up killing each other?”

“It is our way.” Just as Clarke is about to go on a long rant about culture not equaling a valid excuse to raise kids to murder each other, Anya continues, “But that does not mean I agree with it”

Clarke sighs in defeat, knowing she can’t say or do anything about it at this moment, so she nods in signal for her mentor to continue.

“ _Heda_ bears the title Commander of the Blood, or also known as Commander of the Living. _Heda_ is there to maintain balance among the lands, but as _Heda_ of the people, she can be challenged by the people, and most do not consider the title as level with _Fisheda_.”

It shocked Clarke at first, that an entire people can follow the word of just one person, without question. On the Ark, the council voted on all things and the Chancellor would break any ties. She had read in history books how dictatorships never worked out, it would always end in revolution and uprisings. But this? This makes sense. Religion and fear of the unknown can make masses submit to leadership, although the pressure on that sole leader must be quite difficult to bear.

_You could be a leader your people look to. Pour their hopes and dreams into._

“And finally, there is _Wanheda_ , Commander of Death.” Clarke swallows harshly, a familiar dread rising in her chest. “ _Wanheda_ is the most misunderstood of the three gods, but also the most feared. Destruction is necessary for fresh growth and opportunities. Think of infected skin: it must be removed for healing to take place.”

Anya glances at her sharply, and Clarke knows she has to listen carefully to what comes next. “The fear of _Wanheda_ is what keeps many people from becoming thieves or acting dishonourably.”

_That's... not me._

“Destroying the mountain undermined Heda, and it will be exploited. Some say that _Wanheda_ incarnated to finish what _Heda_ was too weak to do.”

Clarke’s nostrils flare, the betrayal still stinging at every nerve in her body. “That’s ridiculous, Anya. If anything, they should just be happy she saved her people without any more bloodshed.”

“That may be so. However, there are many who wish to overthrow _Heda_. She stood in front of her warriors and promised them blood. It is easy to say that her word now means nothing.”

“That’s why there’s a bounty on me? _Azgeda_ and whoever else wants to use me to what? Help _overthrow_ her?” Clarke’s bites back, voice steadily getting louder. The last thing she needs is to be flung into some political power-play that could affect her own people.

“That is why we must keep training. Hard. We still have time, _skaigada_. There is relative peace, warriors are recovering, and the clans are choosing new general’s after the losses in TonDC.”

A dark thought settles in Clarke’s mind, a small drop of poison that festers in her core. “Is that why you’re really helping me? To make sure I don’t side with those clans in revenge?”

Clarke catches a flash of hurt in Anya’s eyes, and she mentally berates herself for being so ignorant. No one would have taken this good care of her if it was for some ulterior motive. Clarke knows that the general cares about her, but between Wells, her mom and the betrayal, she can’t exactly be faulted for having doubts and issues with trust.

“I have never lied to you, _skaigada_. I thought I made my intentions clear, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“No, you have. I’m sorry for being like this, Anya. I think talk of the betrayal… it’s just a lot all at once.”

She nods in acceptance, and Clarke absentmindedly rubs the side of Remus’s face in her lap.

“What will this mean for my people?”

“As I said, we have time. But eventually, Nia or other clan leaders may approach them to form an alliance.”

“I doubt my people will be open to an alliance with grounders again, no matter their relation to the Commander.”

Anya raises a brow, “Even if they say they want to overthrow _Heda?_ ”

Clarke takes a second to think, remembering how hurt Jasper was. Along with Raven and Bellamy, they all have the incentive to seek revenge. And if the Ice Nation offers them some false sense of security, she could see some sort of alliance happening.

“You’re right… But if that happens, there’ll be a war. What would happen to the Coalition?”

“The clans who wish to overthrow _Heda_ do not want peace. They each want their own clan to be in power. The _kongeda_ would crumble, and wars would break out between every clan just like before _Heda’s_ reign. You may not like, or even trust _Heda_ , but you know that she wants peace for her people.”

Clarke nods, “I do. But where does _Wanheda_ come into all of this?”

“You are a legend. You are feared, and people will listen to you.”

“Why? If what I say doesn’t fit into their agenda, then what?” Clarke asks, narrowing her eyes.

“This is why I am training you. People will challenge you, and some may seek to kill you for your power.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Well, don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

Anya furrows her brow, not used to the term.

“Nevermind, just-“ Clarke can already feel a low throbbing on her temples. “Tell me more about _Wanheda_ in your religion. You said there were three pillars?”

“ _Sha._ The three pillars of _Wanheda_ are justice, fortitude, and loyalty. In Trigedasleng, _raitnes,_ _fotines_ and _badannes_. They are the qualities that _Wanheda_ considers when commanding death.”

Anya pauses, gauging Clarke’s reactions. She doesn’t want to push her too far, although it might be best to get it all over with in one sitting.

“Justice; Wanheda commands that the good will always prosper. Fortitude; _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim._ You understand?” Clarke nods, it sounds quite similar to the English words. “Finally, loyalty. It is why honour is important in our culture. Whether that is on the battlefield, or between two lovers, one’s duty comes before every other desire.”

_I do care, Clarke._

_The duty to protect my people comes first._

“There are three pillars of _Heda_ too. Wisdom, compassion and strength.”

“Wisdom,” Clarke snorts. “Did she _know_ about the hit the Coalition would take with her choice? The potential war it would cause? Doesn’t seem very wise to me.”

“There was no way to predict it, but yes, I believe she knew it may come to this.”

Clarke slams her hand on the metallic table, ignoring the pain that shoots through her palm. “Then, why?!”

Clarke’s harsh breathing is the only sound in the room, until a soft squeak sounds from her lap, pulling both of them from their shock at her outburst.

“There were two options, _skaigada_. One, get all of her people back with no further bloodshed and risk a future war that _may_ be preventable. Two, _possibly_ slay the mountain and obtain heavy losses but solidify the Coalition with no one daring to question her again. There is no right option.”

Anya lets out a mirthless chuckle, “Politically, a lone sky girl slaying the mountain was the worst thing that could have happened to her. It weakened her greatly, I am sure she has many scouts trying to locate you.”

Clarke places Remus on the floor and walks towards the ladder, “I need some air.”

When she makes it to the surface, she sits back against the tree beside the hatch and closes her eyes. It’s almost funny that she’s a vital part in whether a war breaks out once again. She ran away, for god’s sakes. How is she still caught up in this?

_You were born for this, Clarke. Same as me._

It’s like everyone is expecting her to be someone else, and somewhere along the lines of trying to be that person to so many people, she’s lost who she actually is. Clarke knows that the relationship she has with herself sets the groundwork for her relationships with others, but how can she go back to them without knowing who she is? Who she wants to be?

She has no idea how much time she has left with Anya, but right then she swears to herself to make the best of every second.

_I will find myself. I am finding myself._

_I will be a better leader. I am becoming a better leader._

Clarke keeps repeating these affirmations until she begins to believe them, and only then does she return to the dining table, mind a lot clearer than before.

“So, how do I wield the power of Wanheda?” She asks, adding a dramatic flair to her words.

“For now, you train. You become strong so no one will dare challenge you.” The signature smirk returns to Anya’s features, “And later, you _own_ the title. You will not fear it, you will be _proud_ of it.”

The disbelief and defiance on Clarke's features makes her add, “At least, act like it”

“I won’t ever be proud of what I had to do, I just know that I don’t regret it.”

“ _Os._ It takes strength to admit that. Now, let us eat. I am sure you’re hungry.”

As if on cue, Clarke’s stomach growls, prompting them both to chuckle.

“You might have a point.”

_Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim - Get smacked down, get back up  
Kongeda - Coalition_  
 _Os -_ Good

* * *

It takes a few more days of practicing hand-to-hand combat from sunrise to sunset until Anya and Clarke spar at full speed. Most of the time, Clarke ends up on the ground within a minute, but the time for that to happen is gradually increasing. Every time she gets knocked down, she stands with renewed determination.

Clarke is a fast learner when she puts her mind to something, and today she managed to launch an offensive attack rather than always being on the defense. It shocked both of them when she landed a hit to the general’s side, but that quickly turned to excitement. Of course, both Rome and Remus begin jumping around them too, catching onto their mood.

“You are improving quickly, _skaigada._ ”

Clarke grins in response, reaching down to pet the two cubs in front of her feet.

Anya studies her for a few seconds, searching her demeanour for something, and apparently, she finds what she was looking for. “Come with me, it is time for you to choose some weapons.”

She follows Anya into the lowest level of the bunker until they are standing in front of the back wall, adorned with all kinds of weapons.

“You may take what you want."

Clarke turns to face her, disbelieving. “Were these your brothers?”

“They are a mix of what he and I have collected over the years. Some have been used in battle before, others are new.”

“ _Mochof._ ” Clarke looks over the wall, eyes darting between the different sections, “I don’t know how to choose, I mean, there’s so many..”

Anya shakes her head, “Do not think so much, take what your heart is drawn to.”

Clarke roams up and down the wall, eyeing each weapon. The intricacy in the wooden carvings on the bows draw her attention first, and she slides her hand over each. She stops on one in particular, shaped like a curvy ‘M’ with black paint on the edges and middle. The parts in between are light brown with small spirals carved into it. It radiates power, and it's totally badass.

“Will you teach me how to use this?”

Anya nods, “ _Sha_. Interesting choice.”

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke breathes, unable to turn eyes away from it.

“My father made it for my mother. She was the best archer in the Trikru before she was taken.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. “Oh-“

“It is yours now, I have no doubt that you will honour its legacy.”

_No pressure or anything._

“I’ll do my best. Thank you,” Clarke promises, moving on to a long line of daggers.

“You should choose two of those, for now.”

Each blade has a different shape, some wide and long, while others short and skinny. Much like the bows, they have complex designs on their handles. Clarke holds some of them, twisting them in her palms and testing their weight. She settles on two of a similar medium blade length with dark brown handles that are easy to hold.

“They will serve you well, they are unused.”

Clarke narrows her eyes when Anya shifts nervously, motioning to the last part of the wall. “Now, a sword.”

Clarke sets her eyes on them and doesn’t hesitate before crouching down and pulling a still sheathed sword off of the wall. There are no words for it, she just _knows_ that this sword is hers. It’s calling to her like a moth to a flame, and Clarke feels a strange tug of familiarity. She doesn’t recall seeing the sword before, but is still overcome with déjà vu. Warmth circulates from her right hand holding the sword to the rest of her body, and this is exactly what she imagines Harry Potter experiencing when holding his wand for the first time.

The sheath is made of wood, painted black with fiery swirls connecting to each other all the way up. The elegant handle of the sword pokes out, only inviting her to grip it, and Clarke runs her index finger through the different parts of it. The pommel is golden, with horizontal engravings leading to a small skull in the middle. The hilt has the same golden, parallel etchings circling it, and the guard that sticks out at both sides is the most impressive with a panther mid roar on either side, and between them is a circle of fire with three symbols floating inside forming a triangle.

Clarke remembers the dream that Anya told her about; _I tripped over a sword that was lying on the floor. I picked it up, and it had the mark of Wanheda on it._

In one swift move, Clarke wraps her hand around the hilt and pulls the sword from its sheath. The action causes a sharp hiss to echo through the bunker. A burst of energy shoots up Clarke’s spine, and the air seems suspended between the two women. The déjà vu never leaves, and Clarke’s fingers twitch around the sword as if she knows exactly how to use it.

When she looks back to Anya, she is considerably paler than before, and Clarke would have thought it more likely that she bursts into flames than what comes next.

Anya moves to stand before her and drops to her knees.

“I swear fealty to you, _Wanheda_ , slayer of the mountain. As _fos_ to _Klark kom Skaikru_ , I vow to teach you everything I know and to protect you with my life. In your capacity as _Wanheda_ , I vow to follow you into each battle you may face.”

The gesture stuns Clarke into silence. The confidence and fire that ignited inside of her diminish, and she re-sheaths the suddenly heavy sword to help Anya back to her feet. It's a pivotal moment, and again, Clarke wishes she knew more about _Trikru_ culture, not knowing how to respond the right way.

They stay in silence for a while, the gravity of those words settling between them.

Clarke smiles after replaying it in her head a couple of times. “So, I’m officially your second?”

Anya dips her head, “If you would have me as your first.”

“How does it work in your culture with the first and second system? Do both swear an oath?”

“Usually, a child is picked based on the skills they show early on. Both mentor and student swear an oath that lasts until the child is proficient in what they are being trained.”

Clarke files that information away for later, already planning out the words to pledge an oath as Anya's second when the time is right. 

“Why.. um- why now?”

“The sword of _Wanheda_ ,” She gestures to it, still in Clarke’s hands. “A few days ago, a _nouhou_ intercepted me on a hunt and passed it to me. Why did you choose it?”

“It felt right. What’s a _nouhou_?”

“A homeless one, they walk the lands by choice. Some say they are messengers of _Fisheda_.”

“And he gave you the sword, just like that?”

“ _Sha._ I am not surprised it found its way back to you. Do you remember my dream?”

Clarke nods and decides against trying to use logic to decipher the dream and random men handing out weapons of this power. There’s no logical reason behind being so drawn to this sword either.

“It just feels familiar, and when I connected with it… it felt like I could use it? Like I knew how to fight with it. But that’s impossible.”

“It is not. You are _Wanheda_ , you have used this sword in past lives.” Anya states, looking for an easier way to put it. “Think of it as a footprint on your soul, one that will always be with you.”

“I don’t know what to think.”

She nods in understanding, “Come, we will train first with wooden staffs. Bring the bow too.”

“Okay, we’ve probably left our _natstepa_ alone for too long anyway,” Clarke says with a chuckle, “Who knows what they’ve been getting up to.”

Anya snorts, but it’s tinged with a certain fondness reserved for their cubs. “I expect at least a fire and three fallen trees.”

* * *

By the end of the day, Clarke has learned the theory of the different stances of archery and the guards of sword fighting. She managed to sink an arrow into the tree with the target on it, which is a win in her books, even if it didn’t come close to the actual target.

For the hundredth time, Clarke is grateful for having hauled those rocks up and down the hill. Her arms didn’t start burning until around 70 shots in, and when they sparred with the wooden staff (which consisted of Clarke trying and failing to parry all of Anya’s attacks), her hands didn’t break out in cuts and blisters because they have already been hardened.

While eating their dinner that night, Clarke inevitably has more questions after having rethought her experience earlier with the sword.

“Anya?”

She was clearly expecting this, having learned most of Clarke’s tells in her body language over the past month. “Ask your questions, _skaigada_.”

“How did you- Nevermind. I was wondering, if your people know of the sword of _Wanheda_ , then they must have been there for a previous… incarnation. Can you tell me about that?”

“ _Wanheda_ is said to have incarnated 64 years ago. There was an enemy attacking from the deadlands, and _Wanheda_ led the army that ended this threat. It was a miracle, much like your ring of fire and slaying the _Maunon_. She used your sword during the battle and was a close advisor to _Heda_ for the rest of her days,” Anya explains.

“What happened to her and the sword after that?”

“She sacrificed herself. The _kongeda_ was not formed yet, and _Azgeda_ was an enemy of Polis. _Wanheda_ prevented an attack by providing a distraction for our forces to surprise their warriors. We won, but she did not survive, and the sword vanished. Her spirit was set free once more, until the next enemy showed itself.”

“The mountain.”

“ _Sha_. They took our people for over 50 years, but many kept faith that _Wanheda_ would lay waste to it if they continue displaying loyalty and fortitude,” Anya pauses, looking at Clarke with a new intensity, “It seems they were right.”

“Anya, I’m still just Clarke. I don’t remember anything, and I sure as hell don’t have magical powers that distinguish me from anyone.”

Clarke needs her to understand this. She doesn’t want to be treated like some sort of God, because she’s _not._

_Just Clarke. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be._

“That may be so,” She nods. “But you must act like it.”

Clarke huffs, still unsure about that part. If she’s really Wanheda, then she doesn’t need to act like anything, because this is who she is.

“Next question. Rome and Remus... I find it quite the coincidence that two panthers are on my sword, don’t you?”

“No. Instead of warpaint, the previous incarnation was said to wear a mask made of a _natstepa_ ’s bones that she killed. When I received the sword, it reminded me of their significance.”

Clarke nods, needing time to think once again. They finish the rest of their meal in relative silence, with the occasional squeak demanding their attention.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Polis, the Commander has just concluded another long and draining meeting with the clan ambassadors. Without a common enemy, there _should_ be peace…

It’s been three weeks since the fall of _Maun-de_ , and each gathering gets more heated. Some clan leaders are becoming more daring with each passing day, contempt infused into each of their actions. They question and disrespect her, but not openly. No, it’s subtle. And the worst part? There’s nothing she can do about it. They are _looking_ for a reason to start a war, and she will not give it to them.

That’s not to say that there aren’t other ways of slighting them; cutting off their trading deals and open threats of her own, but even that seems weak. To an extent, she understands. A lone sky girl, slaying an enemy that the forces of the coalition could not. It dishonours them all.

Lexa just needs to find a way to gain their respect again, a way to strike fear into them. And she knows exactly how, or rather _who_ can help with this. If only she could find her.

She walks out onto the balcony of her throne room, gripping the rails until her knuckles are white. Gazing down on the city of Polis always has a profound effect on her. These people rely on _her_. Pour their hopes and dreams into _her._ She draws strength from them, from the happiness and peace they are granted through her leadership. But now... It’s only a matter of time before _Azgeda_ and their supporting clans make a move.

Lexa thinks that by now, every clan has sent out scouts to find the legendary _Wanheda_ , each wanting to use her for their own political gain. They would offer her irrefutable things in exchange for her loyalty. Her own scouts followed a trail down a hill where it seemed like someone fell, but after that, it disappeared.

The most powerful person of the lands; vanished without a trace. It’s laughable, really, that the blonde continues to defy every odd. It’s what Lexa admires so deeply; her stubbornness. The unwillingness to give up when most would have surrendered. But not Clarke… never Clarke.

She can only pray to whatever gods may listen that Clarke is still alive. Still breathing and still fighting. Lexa _knows_ Clarke. She knows firsthand that she will have a torturous time coming to terms with her actions at the mountain.

Pure, good-hearted, Clarke. The girl who fought with her every step of the way, like no other would. Like no other would _dare_. The girl who somehow convinced herself _and_ her army generals to agree to a rescue mission.

Lexa’s heart sinks, thoughts going to darker places. It’s been a month since she lost Anya again, and she’s convinced that _Azgeda_ has her, although they have denied it. Lexa can’t take losing Clarke too. Even if her love is unrequited for the rest of her days, as long as Clarke’s heart still beats, then hers does too.

“Please come back to me, Clarke,” Lexa whispers into the night. “I need you.”


	7. Ready?

Over the next three weeks, Clarke and Anya train from sunrise to sundown. They start the day with stretching and a long run to increase Clarke’s flexibility and stamina. After that, they practice hand-to-hand combat, sword-fighting, archery and dagger throwing, each for a period of two hours with a short break between the first two sessions. It’s intense, to say the least.

Clarke has proved herself much more adept at sword-fighting than possible for someone who has never touched said weapon before, so they are already sparring at full speed and power with them. Whether it’s because she has past experience like Anya insists, or if she just has a natural ability, she doesn’t read too much into it. It has become an extension of her body, and she doesn’t have to think when the opportunity to launch an attack arises, she simply moves with it. Sometimes she believes that it has a mind of its own. 

The archery is coming along well, she’s able to hit the target most of the time. It’s helped to be adept with aiming a gun, and after taking at least 100 shots a day for weeks, she’s confident in her skill with it. Dagger throwing is her least favourite part of the day, she just can’t get it right. Secretly, it frustrates her even more because of how amazing _she_ was with them - Clarke hasn’t forgotten that time she saved her from Quint.

At the end of every day, Clarke is so tired that she falls asleep the second her head hits her pillow. Her body is showing the effects of almost two months of training, with new lines of definition appearing around all of her muscles. Any extra weight she had is gone, and physically, she feels better than ever.

Of course, she still has her days where resentment and hatred fill her veins for how everything happened, but for those times, she has drawing she can turn to. She has filled the pages in Arin’s sketchbook with drawings of the landscape around the hill, of Anya and their cubs. Her dad, too. She draws him watching her train, and she’s comforted that some form of him, at least, can exist with her here on the ground. It gives her a happier memory of him to focus on.

Their cubs have grown a little, although not by much. The only marked difference in them is their eye colour. The morning after receiving the sword of Wanheda, small specks of green became visible in Remus’s irises. Each day, the green would overtake a little more of the blue until eventually, a vault of emerald is all that is visible in his once sapphire eyes.

It’s ironic, that this green is the same shade as _hers._

Clarke has done well with keeping the Commander out of her mind. The gash she left on her heart is still bleeding, it’s too painful to think of. Not necessarily the betrayal in war, but the betrayal of her trust.

At first, she _tried_ to direct the hatred for herself to the Commander instead. She imagined a devilish smirk on the girl’s features as she walked away, happy about the victory and showing Clarke that love really is nothing but a weakness. As much as she wants to burn that image over each good memory with her, it never fully lasts. That doesn’t mean that she can’t keep trying, though.

It’s still a frequent point of conflict in her nightmares. But even they have been improving slightly, leaving her panting and panicked rather than screaming and without a grasp on her surroundings. On most nights, she can calm herself down with Remus’s help, a fact she’s sure Anya appreciates.

Today, Clarke finds herself on a hunt with her _fos_. She has her bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to her shoulder, excited to use her new skill to provide for them. Clarke has stopped carrying her gun and instead has a holster at her hip to place her sword. It’s a welcome weight, it keeps her steady and safe.

Their cubs are still too young to hunt with them. It would take another month until they could start weaning them off of their milk substitute and take them hunting. They bounce around the hill while they’re away, climbing up and down the tree beside the hatch.

Within minutes, Clarke picks up the trail of what could be a boar and the general nods, satisfied with her second’s observation. They stride through the forest in silence, and a little while later, they have found their prey.

Clarke makes eye contact with Anya and receives the signal to go ahead with her kill. Spending almost two months with someone makes it easy to communicate without words.

She slowly raises her bow, reaching behind to catch hold of an arrow before nocking it.

Clarke holds the bow in her right hand and pulls the string back with her left.

_Inhale_.

Her left eye narrows, and she releases the arrow.

_Exhale._

Time seems to slow as she watches it whoosh to its target, and with a resounding _thump_ , it sinks into the boar’s neck.

Her heart twinges when it lets out a pained whine, but once it’s dead, she can’t contain her grin. When she turns to her first, she’s wearing her own smile. Clarke pumps the air with her fist and does a small victory dance around her mentor. Adrenaline pumps through her veins, and she feels high on her win. Anya tries to hide her amusement, opting to roll her eyes and shove the blonde out of the way to trudge over to the animal.

Clarke follows, and they both stand in front of it murmuring, “ _Yu gonplei ste odon”_

Suddenly, Anya cries out in pain. Clarke jerks her head towards her and barely catches her when she stumbles to the right.

Another arrow flies towards them, and it hits the ground beside Clarke’s leg as she swings one of Anya’s arms around her shoulder, dragging her behind a tree for cover.

_Whoever is attacking us isn’t trying to kill us.. They want to intimidate us._

She gives her a once over, shoulders sagging in relief when she finds that the only arrow that pierced her is in the back of her shoulder. Still, the pain must be excruciating.

_What if they’re poisoned?!_

Clarke has no time to think about it now, opting to peek her head around the tree to get a visual of their attackers.

She can’t see anyone. They must also be taking cover in bushes and trees, and the only thing she hears is their combined panting and a ringing in her ears.

Anya grips her wrist, “You must… leave me. I can fight to distract-“

“We’re _not_ doing this again, Anya,” Clarke hisses, fixing her with a fierce glare, “You clearly don’t know me very well if you think that’s an option.”

She opens her mouth to argue, or suggest a plan when, “Come out, _Wanheda._ We will not harm you or your companion if you do as I say.” A gruff voice taunts, “Two cannot fight us all.”

Anya growls and takes a step into the open before a hand on her shoulder pushes her back. Clarke shakes her head, handing her the bow and arrows in a silent signal to the treetops. Anya nods, understanding her plan.

“Trust me,” Clarke whispers, before stepping away from the tree and into the open, hands raised in surrender. She walks away from Anya, drawing the attention to herself and circling the area where the voice came from.

“I’m here,” She calls out. “What do you want?”

“You,” the voice responds, and Clarke finally has a face to match it to. A figure emerges from the trees, followed by five others, but she can see at least two archers remaining in the bushes behind. They each have streaking white warpaint and scars marring their faces…

_Azgeda._

She needs to give Anya more time. “Who are you?”

“You ask many questions, _Wanheda._ ”

Clarke notices how the man leading the group is the only one _actually_ looking at her. The rest have their eyes downcast, as if looking at her will turn them to stone.

_Interesting._

“If you must know, we are _Azgeda_. Our _haiplana_ has much to discuss with you.”

The entourage of men keep getting closer, and she can only pray that Anya is in position already. Still, she can get more time by playing dumb.

“How did you find me?”

“Enough. You can make this easy, or difficult. Which will it be?”

Clarke clenches her fist around the hilt of her sword, eyes narrowing. What did Anya say before? _Own the title_. She won’t let this asshole intimidate her anymore, so she slowly starts walking towards him until he’s a step away.

“Do you really think that I’ll be open to discussing whatever it is your queen wants if you _threaten_ me?”

The man gulps, although maintaining eye contact.

“Do you know what happens to people that threaten _me_?” She hisses through gritted teeth.

Clarke takes immense satisfaction in the way he shifts back a little, but apparently, it’s not enough to overpower the command of his queen.

“ _Sis em op!”_

The second he utters those words, Clarke sees two arrows fly over them in rapid succession. Two cries of pain later, and the _Azgeda_ archers are taken care of.

Clarke takes this moment of confusion to slice her sword through the man’s chest. He turns back to her, eyes wide in shock before falling to his knees.

And with that, chaos breaks out. The rest of the _Azgeda_ do what they are trained to do; fight.

The first lunges at her with two blades, but he’s huge and therefore slow, so she dodges the attack and spins to his side, sinking her weapon into his abdomen. The next two are charging at her before she pulls out her sword, but another arrow from overhead buries itself in the chest of one, and Clarke is able to retrieve her sword just in time to fight the second.

It’s a woman, and she’s much faster than Clarke. It’s an even fight at first, each trying to gain the upper hand.

The warrior surprises Clarke with a hard kick to her shin when she parries one strike, and she uses the momentary advantage to bring her sword down with such momentum that she forces Clarke to her knees, holding her sword above her head in defense. Clarke is in a bad position, and another harsh kick to her ribs leaves her breathless.

_She won’t kill me, she just has to knock me out. Where the fuck is Anya?_

The warrior seems to get cocky though, and Clarke finds an opening to land a punch of her own to the girl’s stomach which leaves her winded. She leaps to her feet and commences a ruthless attack with her sword, backing the warrior until she hits a tree. From there, she knees her in the same spot on her stomach, forcing her to double over, and Clarke finishes it with her sword ripping through the air and into her chest.

The last of the group decides to take his chances at running away, and on instinct, Clarke pulls out the dagger strapped to her thigh and hurls it at his back. By some miracle, it hits her target, and he drops to the floor, sputtering and stilling.

Clarke pivots in a flash when she hears a thud beside her, but relaxes as soon as she realises that it’s Anya. Their breathing is laboured, adrenaline pumping through their systems.

“I could not.. be sure that my.. shot would not hit you,” Anya rasps between breaths. “I am proud of you, _skaigada._ ”

Clarke brushes off the compliment, taking in how pale her mentor is. She must have lost a lot of blood from the arrow in her back, it’s a miracle she was able to climb up the tree _and_ take out the archers. But that’s always been Anya, driven by feral protectiveness and determination.

She pulls her left arm around her shoulder, supporting her weight. “Come on, we need to get you home.”

Clarke will not risk treating her out in the open, who knows how many other _Azgeda_ are in this area. Besides, she needs a fire and bandages.

Once they arrive at the top of their hill, Clarke sits the warrior against the tree so that half of her back has support, and promises her she’ll be back with supplies. She clambers down the ladder and grabs a knife, the medical kit and a piece of rope. She pauses to ruffle the fur of their two cubs when they whine in concern. They know something is wrong, they can feel it.

“She’ll be okay, I’m going to fix her,” Clarke promises, climbing back through the hatch.

As soon as she’s back on the grass, she drops the supplies beside Anya and tells her to stay with her. A small prod of the arrow that has her groaning in pain tells Clarke that it has hit no bones, which is a good sign. Problem is, the arrows were barbed, which means she can’t simply pull it out.

“Okay. You’re going to be fine,” She says, pressing the rope in front of Anya's mouth. “Here, bite down on this.”

Anya does as she says, and Clarke sends her a silent apology before pushing the arrow the rest of the way. Tears sting at her eyes when she hears her muffled cries, but she works through it, snapping the arrowhead off when it emerges on the other side of her shoulder and pulling it out.

“You’re okay, the worst is over.” At this point, Clarke doesn’t know whether she’s comforting Anya or herself, but maybe they both need it.

The wound is bleeding again, so she puts pressure on it on one side and presses Anya’s hand against it, instructing her to keep it there. Next, she reaches for the grinding stones that they always leave beside the tree and sparks a small fire, kept alive by a few leaves.

Clarke holds her dagger into the flame, sterilising it.

Clarke’s brows pinch together, “This is gonna hurt again.”

She presses the flat side of the knife against the exit wound, cauterising it through another strangled groan from the warrior.

The bleeding on the entrance area is slowing down, so she gets out the sewing kit and closes the wound. That pain must be minuscule compared to the previous ones.

As soon as she's finished treating Anya, she lowers her gaze and dips her chin. How did she come out of this with a few bruises while Anya took an arrow to the shoulder? 

“This was not your fault, _skaigada_ ,” Anya grumbles, skilled at reading Clarke’s mind even when she’s halfway to passing out.

Clarke shakes her head, “You need to rest. Besides, Rome and Remus are worried about you.”

To her surprise, Anya agrees without a fight and slowly climbs down the ladder. She stops at the first level, and both cubs bound over to her, squeaking to no end. Clarke smiles, watching as she reaches out to pet both of them, reassuring them she’s fine. Rome doesn’t have any intention of letting her out of his sight, and he clings to her boots when she tries to leave. She grunts, picking him up and cradling him to her chest as she continues down with him.

A few minutes later, and Clarke can hear soft snoring coming from the lower level. She has since collapsed on the couch to get some rest too, but her mind is racing. Thoughts are shooting left and right, and she can’t seem to cling onto any of them. All of them have one thing in common, however.

Her time at the bunker has come to an end.

It’s only a matter of time before others find the fallen _Azgeda_ , and word of her whereabouts will spread like a wildfire. No one will question who left such destruction in their wake. It should probably irk her more than it is, that she ended four lives today, but it was self defense, and again, she doesn’t regret it.

_The past is in the past._

Clarke spends the next few hours running through every scenario, and she keeps ending up at the same conclusion. And although it gives her a sinking feeling, and butterflies that aren’t of the good kind, Clarke Griffin has made up her mind. 

And historically, when that happens, nothing can stop her.

_Yu gonplei ste odon -_ Your fight is over  
 _Haiplana-_ Queen  
 _Sis em op! -_ Take her!

* * *

For the remaining time that Anya is resting, Clarke makes a sizeable lunch with Remus’s company. She sets out an array of berries and nuts on an enormous plate and puts strips of meat on smaller plates for the two of them. She seasoned them with some herbs she found, and it tastes surprisingly good.

The smell must have woken Anya, because minutes later, she pokes her head into the first level, spotting Clarke sitting at the dining table with Remus on her lap.

She makes her way over, plopping down into the seat opposite and reaching to place Rome on her thighs. “I would not mind being hit with arrows more often if this is what I wake up to after.”

“Hilarious,” Clarke responds dryly.

They eat in relative silence, but by Clarke’s constant glances and shifting in her seat, Anya can tell that she is searching for the right time to let something out.

As soon as Anya puts the last piece of meat in her mouth, Clarke can’t hold it in anymore. “We need to talk.”

She raises one eyebrow, “I noticed”

“You ate extra-slow just to piss me off me, didn’t you?”

Anya smirks, and Clarke rolls her eyes. She’s thought of how she wants to phrase her plans and decides it’s best to cut right to the chase. “I’m going to Polis.”

Clarke was _not_ expecting a simple nod. “You have come to the same conclusion as I have, then.”

“Someone has probably found the bodies of the warriors already, which means they know that I’m close by. And if _Azgeda_ are in the middle of _Trikru_ territory, then they’re already breaking rules of the coalition. They’re going to make their move soon, and I have to stop them.” Clarke lists off her assumptions, not knowing whether to be relieved or annoyed that Anya is affirming each of them with a nod. “My people could get dragged into this at any day now.”

Anya places Rome on the ground, ignoring his whine of complaint. She crosses her arms and begins pacing, “I suspect you have a plan?”

“Yes. I’ll leave at first light, I just need you to give me a map, or point me in the right direction-“

Anya's back stiffens, freezing mid-step. “ _We_ are leaving at first light.”

“Anya, you could have died today. I can’t-“

“And I could die tomorrow. If I am not with you, you will not make it into Polis without being seen, and I believe it is best to arrive unannounced. I am your _fos,_ this is not up for discussion.”

Clarke’s nostrils flare when they become locked in a stare-down. Eventually, she relents. Part of her knew that Anya would never agree to stay, and she does need help getting into the city. Still, it was worth a try.

Anya sees she has won this battle and continues her pacing. “What is your plan?”

Clarke spends the next half hour briefing Anya on her idea, and her mentor spends some time in silence before questioning Clarke on every detail. Both are meticulous, coming up with every way that things could go wrong, and what to do if it does.

“This will work, _skaigada_. It gives us time to figure out Nia’s plans, and it may stop a war. You are a great leader to your people.”

Clarke smiles at the praise, thinking that now might be a good time to do the one thing that has been niggling at her for weeks.

She advances towards Anya until she is a couple feet away, and drops to her knees. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few weeks, but you made a vow I haven’t returned yet.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, recalling the words she rehearsed so often in her downtime. “I swear fealty to you, _Onya kom Trikru_. As your _seken_ , I vow to honour all that you teach me for the rest of my days, and as _Wanheda_ , I vow to take your advice to heart and to choose my battles wisely.”

Anya’s eyes soften, and the emotional journey of the past month and a half sinks into the space between them. Anya found Clarke when she was at her lowest - hateful, heartbroken and _suffocating_ in despair. And somehow, she helped her work _through_ those emotions, helped her face them rather than push them away, she stayed and listened... made her feel _valid_. Clarke tries to communicate her sentiments through her eyes, knowing that words could never do them justice. 

Anya holds out her hand and helps Clarke to her feet before pulling her into an unexpected embrace. “Are you sure you are ready to go back?”

Clarke reciprocates, glad for the physical comfort. “I’m sure. Are you ready?”

The question seems to stump the general, but after an extended silence, “ _Sha.”_

Two squeaks break them out of the moment, and they dissolve into chuckles, each bending to pick up a cub to give them the attention they are not-so-subtly demanding.


	8. Now or Never

That night, Clarke’s dreams comprise of a forest of green. She dreams of the bright shade the leaves on the trees had when she first set her unknowing, awe-stricken eyes on them, and how they slowly became darker as winter neared. She dreams of the grass that she swore got lighter as her time at the bunker wore on and of the emerald eyes that still haunt her - the source of a pain she has ignored these past months. That’s before the rich, virescent shades twist into a blood-red, and it’s so abstract that Clarke is thoroughly confused when Anya wakes her before the sun rises to they can pack some last-minute items and eat before leaving.

After getting a grasp on reality and remembering the journey ahead of them, Clarke begins to change out of her sleepwear. But before she can pull her shirt over her head, Anya takes out a new set of clothing from her own wardrobe and hands it to her. She turns to leave then, mumbling something about readying the horses she retrieved from the village the previous evening.

When Clarke looks at the outfit, her breath hitches in awe. Her blue jacket is cleaner than it was when she first got it; it looks like it was _polished._ The colour pops out, and on top is a new jet-black leather overcoat that goes down to the back of her thighs. The sides are lined with dark fur much like Anya’s and it hugs her figure snugly. It’s sleeveless so that the blue of her jacket is visible, and a there’s a small buckle at the waist to secure it, leaving a wide V-neck. The undershirt is also black, but with claw-shaped patches of sky blue at the hem. It’s beautiful - she’s never seen any grounder clothing like it.

The outfit is complete with the usual black pants, wrist guards and boots, and Clarke’s heart soars with gratitude. Wearing this will be like that old movie… batman? It’ll be easier to own the title with a proper costume, and this is perfect.

Clarke hesitates with the shoulder guard, but settles on putting it on. It’s a symbol of leadership, and right now, she needs that energy surrounding her. Finally, she straps her sword to her hip and places a dagger in the flap on her thigh.

She has her sketchpad, pencils and the entire Harry Potter series packed already, adamant that they’re important for her mental wellbeing. They’re easily carried on horseback, anyway. It’ll be a strange journey for their cubs, but they made pouches to strap across their chests, each able to carry one.

On foot, it would take four days, but with the horses that Anya secured, they’ll make it to Polis in a day and a half. The raging nerves haven’t let up since Clarke made her decision, but in some way, it feels right to go back now. She simply knows that she’s supposed to, for her people and for whoever else may need her.

Clarke gives herself a pep-talk, reminding herself that she’s done hiding. She’s done running from her past, and instead, ready to embrace the present for a better future. At least, that’s what she tells herself; what she clings to. She has to.

_I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine._

After having a light meal and packing plenty of meat and dried berries, Clarke and Anya hoist themselves onto the horses. Clarke’s is black with a white patch on its forehead, and the other is light brown.

With a final look at the hatch that led to their shared home for the last two months, they ride off into the sunrise.

A few tears roll down Clarke’s cheeks, becoming more numerous with the growing distance between herself and their hill. When had it become _theirs?_ Their bunker… Clarke’s shoulders curl, chest constricting. She was a different person when she arrived here. She was vengeful and full of hate.. she _wanted_ to suffer - would have inflicted pain on herself.

Clarke swallows harshly when she gets a flashback of how the gun felt pressing against her head. Never did she feel fear so chilling than when she realised what she was about to do. Not even the countless near-death experiences she endured since coming to the ground could compare to the terror she felt.

Before she spirals any further, a scratchy tongue licks across her throat, tickling her. She looks down at the cub who poked his head out from her chest to bring her back to the present. Somehow, Remus always _knows._ His green eyes shine, and she finds reassurance in them. Clarke tilts down, dropping a kiss onto his head and chuckling at the small squeak she gets in response.

* * *

They ride until sunset, switching between a canter and trot. Despite the considerable amount of training Clarke has done in the past months, nothing could have prepared her muscles for being on horseback for such a long time at once. Any makes a fire while Clarke retrieves bowls and a bottle of milk to feed their cubs. Once that’s done, she drops next to her _fos_ and groans from the pain in her thighs.

Anya arches a brow, “How you Sky People are so thin yet weak at the same time will never cease to surprise me.”

“It’s not like we had horses on the Ark. And we didn’t have enough food rations to build muscle,” Clarke mumbles, too tired to think of an equal insult. She knows she won’t get much sleep though, and her next words come out a lot more petulantly than she intended, “I miss my bed.”

“You are just as dramatic as when I found you,” Anya grunts.

“You know, reminding me of how dramatic I am on a daily basis has kinda made me immune to hearing it.”

“I can come up with many other words if that is what you want.”

“Give me your worst,” Clarke challenges.

“I will save them for the appropriate times.”

Clarke laughs, “I’m sure you will. Wake me up in a few hours and I’ll take second watch, okay?”

Anya nods, and Clarke lies down, twisting into a foetal position. A couple of seconds later, Remus steps into his usual space between her chest and legs, curling into a ball. 

* * *

Clarke rolls her eyes for the fourth time that morning, “You should have woken me up! You need sleep just as much as I do.”

“You need a clear mind for today. I am used to receiving little sleep, it is fine.”

“Next time we sleep in a forest, I’m taking first watch,” Clarke says, leaving little room for argument.

The warrior nods, “We will have furs to sleep in tonight.”

“ _If_ everything goes to plan.”

“It will.”

Clarke doesn’t want to jinx anything, instead preferring to go over things they’ve already discussed.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t we be infiltrating Polis at night? I mean, the point is to get into the tower undetected.” 

_Tiring yourself out with questions already asked and answered is a waste of time._

“No. It will be easier to fit into the masses to get inside the city. From there, I know a hidden entrance to the tower reserved for the personal guard. It will be free - we only use it in emergencies.”

“So, sneaking _Wanheda_ into the tower is an emergency, huh?”

A sharp glare stops her from snickering, and they ride in silence until Anya pulls harshly on the reigns, prompting both horses to stop.

“Cover your head,” She hisses.

Clarke pulls out a shawl without question, covering her shoulders and the braids that Anya wove into her hair this morning. She also covers the pouch on her chest, hiding her cub.

Anya points at a group of people with a large cart and covers her head and chest in equal fashion. “We are close. It will be easy to get inside if we stay behind those merchants.”

Clarke nods and urges her horse into a trot once again. They stay at a distance for a while longer until Clarke sees a tremendous tower in the distance. It’s so tall that it disappears in the clouds, and Clarke wonders how it survived the apocalypse. It’s impressive, and she can’t wait until she can explore the interior.

Anya moves onto the wide path behind the traders with her _seken_ in tow, her signature stoic and guarded expression in place. It doesn’t seem to bother the rowdy group; they don’t even acknowledge them.

Clarke assumes that many people use this road to enter and exit the capitol, and an unfamiliar excitement builds in her chest.

_Polis will change the way you think about us._

To see the merchants so nonchalant and unaffected by their surroundings makes Clarke realise that not every grounder is a ruthless warrior in battle. These are just people trying to make a living, just like hers.

Her thoughts slow when they make it past the treelines and become faced with a vast wall that stretches a few kilometres in each direction. She can make out the tiny figures acting as guards placed on top, and there’s a tall, intimidating gate that hangs open with a bunch of warriors guarding it.

Clarke grits her teeth, heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest. If they find out that it’s _Wanheda_ under the cover, this could be a disaster. They’d tie her up and bring her straight to the Commander, which would take all of Clarke’s own control away. Or even worse, they could ship her off to _Azgeda_ to claim the reward for the bounty.

When they reach the gate, they nudge their horses even closer to the back of the cart. Clarke sends up a silent prayer that neither of their cubs will make a sound.

A guard walks up to the supposed leader of the group. “ _Chit zoun?”_

“ _Trishana, osir don kofgeda tiya.”_

The guard nods, “ _Ait. Min yo op.”_

The pair follow the cart, hoping that the guard will simply let them pass. At this rate, it would not surprise Clarke if the entire city can hear her heartbeat.

“ _Hod op. Yu sou emo op?”_ He asks, eyeing Clarke with suspicion.

Clarke answers before the general can formulate a response. It’s risky, but they wouldn’t suspect her of being anyone special if she can speak Trigedasleng, right?

“ _Sha. Oso laik leda-haka_ ,” Clarke informs him with a smile, motioning to her rather stylish overcoat, which makes the lie all the more believable.

He narrows his eyes, but gestures for them to pass as another group of traders have arrived behind them.

As soon as they are inside the walls, Clarke and Anya let out a collective sigh of relief, shoulders losing some of their tension.

_Now, I just have to infiltrate a tower that will contain three times as many guards. This should be fun._

Anya hops down from her horse in one effortless movement, and Clarke follows suit, albeit with much less grace. Staying unnoticed will be easier on the ground, and they opt to lead their horses through the crowds of people instead.

Clarke’s eyes are bright and glossy as she takes in the hectic life around her. She would never have imagined a place so huge and packed with people to exist. A child pushes its way past her, charging after another with a small wooden sword in an adorable war cry. Trading posts line the wide path, and each shopkeeper advertises their goods with small samples on display, others yelling out their offers.

The general cuts her observations short when she yanks the blonde to a small alleyway between two buildings.

They walk through the narrow path until Anya halts in a seemingly random spot. She turns to the wall on her right and pulls out a loose brick that was concealing a handle. When she pulls at it, Clarke realises that a slab of bricks act as a small door leading to a downwards staircase.

Anya turns to her, whispering, “Put all of your bags inside. Fast.”

Clarke doesn’t need to be told twice, hastily undoing all the straps keeping her belongings tied to her horse. She carries them down in one trip and watches as Anya does the same with hers and closes the door, leaving them in a pitch-black tunnel.

The general crouches and grinds flint stones together, creating a fire. She lifts something from the wall, and soon they have a flaming torch to guide them. Clarke can feel Remus a moving around in his position, giving out a low whine. She pats her chest in comfort, knowing from experience how it feels to be confined to small spaces.

“Leave your belongings here, we will come back for them later,” Anya commands, and again, Clarke offers no resistance. This has to be the most times she’s obeyed her without question in one day.

“ _Os._ Now, let us get rid of these shawls.” She smirks, adding, “Also, I believe our _natstepa_ are becoming restless.”

Clarke hesitates, “You want us to walk through the tower with two panthers? Won’t they be attacked?”

Anya quirks her brows, “No, not when they are at _Wanheda_ ’s side.”

“You seem to have a lot of trust in this title,” Clarke says, still skeptical, but following suit and placing Remus at her feet.

“You will see.”

After a few more minutes of walking, and they arrive at another staircase that goes upwards with a door at the top.

“What’s behind the door?”

“It leads to a small closet of cleaning supplies. Once we exit, we will be on the ground floor of the tower. I suspect it will not take long until people realise who you are, but you will ignore them. We will walk directly to the elevator, and you will command them to take you to the top floor. Then, I shall lead you to the throne room where the ambassadors meet each day,” She explains, and Clarke fidgets with her father’s watch, anxiety burying itself in the pit of her stomach.

Anya’s eyes soften, but the hard edge to her voice doesn’t leave. “After that, it is up to you to execute the rest of your plan.”

“Okay, I can do this,” Clarke says to herself, trying to settle the nerves. Part of her wants to flee the city and return to the bunker and hide there for the rest of her life, but she’s come so far now. All she has to do is step into that closet and out of a door, and then there’s no going back.

_Deep breaths, Clarke. Come on._

Anya grips her shoulders, anchoring her. “You can and you will. You honour me, _seken.”_

Those words fill Clarke with a new sense of determination. She lifts her chin, cracks her knuckles and rolls her shoulders back. A squeak at her feet adds more fuel to her fire, and she nods, turning to open the first door.

She climbs into the closet, spotting the exit a couple of feet away from her. Anya wasn’t kidding when she said the closet is small. She spares a glance down at Rome and Remus, telling them “Stay close” and they seem to understand. They always do.

_Breathe in._

Clarke pushes down the handle and opens the door, light gushing into the small space.

_Breathe out._

Clarke squints when a sudden gush of brightness blinds her, and it takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. When she looks around, she sees many tower staff go about their daily duties. No one notices her, all too immersed in their tasks to pay much attention to a broom closet.

A small nudge at Clarke’s back reminds her of her mission, and she sets her jaw and begins walking towards what she assumes is the elevator. Her mind is single-pointed for now; _just get to the lift_. Nothing else matters. Remus brushes against her legs as she moves, and it’s like she’s floating through space rather than strolling through a busy tower with the most important people of the lands inside it.

Clarke feels _so_ out of place, she’s spent the last two months in the company of just one other person. To go from such little contact to being around so many – it’s as though she’s a droplet of oil in a vast body of water. 

A single gasp is all the confirmation Clarke needs; someone has recognised her. A few seconds later and the loud shouting of people giving orders to each other dulls down into hushed whispering. The people in the crowds part, forming a direct path to the elevator. Clarke chances an uncertain glance to Anya who is walking slightly behind her, hand on the dagger at her hip. She’s like a freshly sharpened blade, ready to attack anyone who dares to _breathe_ too close to her _seken._

But Clarke has spent enough time with her to see under her well-practiced mask. Anya is just as on edge as she is, if not more even more so, and Clarke wonders how long it’s been since she was in Polis. She may have some strong memories here, with what happened to her other brother.

“ _Wanheda?_ ” Someone blurts, and she turns to look at where it came from - a young woman probably no older than herself, with one hand clasped over her mouth, and Clarke gives her a low nod in confirmation.

Another gasp, and the breath is snuffed from Clarke’s lungs when she watches as the woman drops to one knee.

“She speaks true. She bears two _natstepa_.” Another voice adds, and Clarke hears another thud of knees dropping to the floor.

Clarke’s mouth parts and her eyes widen when more and more of the people sink one knee to the floor. Her eyes burn, but she refuses to blink. She doesn’t know how to feel, doesn’t know how to _act_. It’s like her brain has stopped processing the signals her eyes send, and she thinks she’s stopped walking to gape at each person who is on one knee with their head bowed in recognition.

Anya appears prepared for this though, and she wraps an arm around Clarke’s bicep to pull her along. Time still passes in slow-motion for Clarke, and it only returns to normal when her entire world shakes.

The grip on her arm doesn't let up, “We are in the elevator, _skaigada_. Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. Fine.. I’m fine,” Clarke stutters, blinking away the dryness in her eyes. “That was just… a lot.”

The general nods, “I was not sure of their reactions, but this surpasses any expectation I had.”

A loud creak makes Clarke cringe, and she wonders if this elevator has racked up its own death toll over the years. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Anya pauses, thinking. “I do not know. We shall see, we are almost there.”

_Fuck. Why did I think this was a good idea, again?_

Clarke shakes her head, trying to rid herself of any second thoughts. The bandaid has been ripped off, after all. There is officially no going back.

Another quake inside the elevator later, and the doors reopen. Clarke hears two annoyed squeaks below her, and she agrees with her cubs that it’s quite unpleasant to be in this contraption.

The news of her arrival couldn’t have travelled up here yet, and she’s already bracing herself for similar reactions. Clarke looks around with relief when she's faced with a mostly empty, large corridor that has doors lining each side, presumably leading to meeting rooms. At the end, she spots an elegant double door which she knows to be the entrance to the throne room from Anya’s descriptions.

When they get there, the two guards posted up outside tense their hands around their spears. “There is a meeting of the clans in progress, _Heda_ ordered us not to let anyone in.”

From what Clarke can gather, they’re trying to figure out if she is who they suspect. She thinks that now is a good time as any to _own the title._

Before Anya can force her way through the doors, Clarke steps up to them and hisses, “It’s a good thing then, that I’m not _anyone_.”

Clarke surprises herself by how much of a kick she gets out of this. Talking her way into and out of situations is not something she thought she’d miss. “What do you think _Heda_ will say when she hears that you refused _Wanheda_ entrance?”

She trails her gaze from one to the other. “I’m only going to ask once; stand aside.”

Clarke’s back is completely straight as she squares up the two guards who are twice her height and size. She narrows her eyes and watches with satisfaction as one of them gulps. They share a look, seeming to deliberate before nodding and stepping away.

Now, all Clarke has to do is burst through this door, just as planned.

_If only it were that easy._

Clarke knows _who_ is on the other side of that door. She knows she’ll be pierced with the same emerald eyes that haunt her in her dreams.

_Why am I still letting her affect my emotions?_

Clarke imagines herself back at the mountain and how it felt to watch her walk away. All Clarke has ever wanted is to be a _good_ person. A person who provides comfort and care to the people around her. It would be _so_ easy to strike up deals with _Azgeda_ and other clans, to act on hatred and her subdued desire for vengeance. It probably would be much less work for Clarke, to let those feelings consume her.

But that would make her no better than the very person who drove her into this bottomless chasm – the person she still can’t bear to think of, yet somehow still intrudes on every waking and sleeping moment.

_I won’t leave you to die. I’m better than that._

And Clarke has to cling onto the fact that she _is_ a good person, that she’s never acted with an ill intention, because if she doesn’t, then there’s nothing left of _who_ she truly is.

Maybe there are no good guys, but in a world where that is the reality, the only thing that matters is who you _try_ to be. 

She channels those feelings as best she can and turns to glance at Anya. She receives a minuscule nod from her, and a hiss from Rome. He seems to know what’s up.

_Breathe in._

Clarke is much more aggressive when she pushes this door open compared to the last. She’s glad she doesn’t trip over her own feet like she had feared originally, no matter how many times Anya assured her that this would not happen.

_Breathe out._

Sunlight streams in from a huge window ahead, and Clarke squints, once again trying to adjust to the new level of light.

And that’s when she sees _her._

_Chit zoun?_ \- What clan are you from?   
_Trishana, osir don kofgeda tiya. -_ Glowing forest, we own a trading post inside.  
 _Ait. Min yo op. -_ Okay, enter.  
 _Hod op. Yu sou emo op? -_ Hold on. Are you with them?  
 _Sha. Oso laik leda-haka -_ Yes. We are leather-makers. 


	9. Bring the Pain

Lexa.

Just as she remembers, with her long coat buckled closed, shoulder guard, red sash and forehead piece. Those may be normal things to anyone else in that room, but to Clarke, they’re significant because they are a part of _her._ The only difference in her usual appearance is the absence of warpaint, and it sends chills through Clarke. This Lexa looks so different from the images that her subconscious conjured each night, so different to what she _tried_ to instil in her mind. Even Lexa’s greatest enemies could not deny the regal beauty that she emanates.

Clarke eyes the throne she has drawn so many times. She always stopped herself before her hands could make the person who sits in it appear before her for fear of letting her conflicting feelings of longing and fury engage in an all-out war.

But unlike their first encounter, the Commander isn’t sitting. She’s standing, hand clenched on the sword at her side as she vehemently works her jaw back and forth. Green meets blue, and the rest of their surroundings fade away until Clarke feels as though they are the only people that exist in this harsh world. The distance between them seems interwoven, as if an invisible string hangs from one to the other, pulling and _pulling_ , and the more they resist or push into the opposite direction, the tauter it becomes. Clarke was a fool for thinking she could outrun or cut that string. She should have known it would simply pull her right back to its other end.

What may seem like a couple of seconds to anyone else feels like forever to Clarke, and in that time she realises that she can _still_ see right through Lexa. She catches each emotion as it flashes through her eyes; shock, followed by confusion… but the most overwhelming of them all is pure _relief_.

Their eye contact is broken when Lexa’s eyes dart to her former _fos_ and then wander down to the cubs at her feet. They snap back up to meet Clarke’s once again, but this time, she’s met with the stony mask of the Commander, and there’s no trace of those emotions, leaving Clarke wondering if they were there at all.

“What is the meaning of this?” She says through gritted teeth, but Clarke knows it’s to keep up appearances in front of the ambassadors.

Hearing Lexa’s voice again shouldn’t shake Clarke to her very core, but she’s helpless against it. Her legs feel weak as the memories she pushed down rush through her in one unstoppable wave, and her resolve is merely a pebble that blasts along with it. Lexa’s very being is a paradox that Clarke could never tire from deciphering, how a voice can be so high-pitched, so reassuring and safe yet commanding and fierce at the same time…

_Get yourself together, Clarke._

A low squeak echoes through the room, and it’s as she’s plunged into ice-cold water. Clarke moves her eyes away from Lexa, which takes much more effort than it should, and glances around to take in her surroundings.

There are six chairs on either side of her, each occupied by a gaping ambassador.

Next, Clarke notices that she’s standing on a red carpet, because _of course_ a red carpet would line the ground to Lexa’s throne. She shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Looking back to the front, she sees a bald man to the left of the dais. He looks _extremely_ annoyed, and Clarke can’t place her finger on why, but his face irritates her already. _That must be Titus._

And to the right… Indra? She’s looking at Clarke as if she just woke up from being stabbed in the chest twelve times.

Clarke realises that it’s been a few seconds too long of observing, so she clears her throat and takes a few steps forward to answer the Commander with her own mask of indifference in place.

Might as well get straight to the point, right?

“I am here to petition a place in the Coalition for _Skaikru_.”

The clan ambassadors, having recovered from their temporary stupor, break out in whispers of obvious displeasure.

“That is impossible. _Skaikru_ are nothing like us,” A voice snarls to Clarke’s left. She turns to him and recognises the scars on his face; _Azgeda_. His hair is a dirty blond, hanging down to his shoulders.

A murmur of agreement passes between a few of the ambassadors. When Clarke looks around, some have clear defiance on their expressions, while others seem at least willing to listen, and the rest have paled, seemingly unable to process her presence.

The Commander sits down again, eyes still jumping from Clarke to Anya as if each detail of the past two months is written somewhere between them.

“Enough,” She commands, and the entire room waits with bated breath.

“We will hear what _Wanheda_ has to say before making any decisions.” She turns to pin the _Azgeda_ ambassador with a fierce glare, “Or baseless claims”

Clarke takes this as her opening to make her case, so she lifts her chin and steps inside of the room with a few self-assured strides before arriving in front of the dais.

“Thank you,” She nods at the Commander before turning around to face the clan leaders. Both Rome and Remus followed her, coming to sit at either side of Clarke’s feet. Anya stays rooted at the entrance, watching Clarke like a hawk. She doesn’t return Indra or the Lexa’s attempts to make eye contact. Not yet.

“Like I said, I’m here to ask for a place in the Coalition for _Skaikru._ As one ambassador has already pointed out, we aren’t much like the rest of the clans. We’re different. But I believe that there’s a strength in that, and an opportunity for you. My people are often compared to the Mountain Men, that we have similar technology, or that we walk loudly in forests like they do.” That earns her a few grumbles of agreement, but it’s in good nature.

“And that’s why it would be best if we learned from each other. We have weapons that are like the Mountain Men’s, yes. But we also have medical techniques that could save hundreds of your people’s lives each year. We have ways of determining how fertile soil is, simply by putting a stick into it. We can speed up the process of making building materials to better the structure of your homes.”

Clarke has begun walking around the room now, trying to fill the space with her words. Rome has taken to trailing her, sniffing at the feet of each ambassador. Some reach out to pet him, while others flinch back and wrinkle their noses in displeasure.

“And I know that we have _so_ much that we can learn from you. I learned that from personal experience. For the past two months, _Onya kom Trikru,_ my _fos,_ has trained me in your ways.”

Another breakout of whispers as everyone turns their head to the stoic general. This part was not in the proposed plan on how to win over the ambassadors, and Clarke knows she’s going to be in trouble later. But that’s not a problem for now.

“She taught me everything from how to start a fire and making snares to using a bow and a sword.” Clarke switches to Trigedasleng for the next part to hammer home her point. _“But more importantly, in those two months I learned what true patience is. I learned what resilience and strength and discipline are. And believe me, my people are lacking in some of those areas.”_ Another snort of what sounds like… approval? Could it be?

Clarke switches back to English, “If anything, this shows that more of my people could learn. If _Skaikru_ was part of the Coalition, we could organise exchanges where your healers learn our advanced medicine, and one of our guards learns to be a warrior. That’s why I said our differences are really opportunities. They are our strength. And I’m sure that each of you has your own traditions and cultures in your separate clans.”

Clarke finishes her speech with a rhetorical question, “The mountain is gone. That threat doesn’t exist any more, so what’s stopping us from achieving peace now, for each of our people?”

She stops where she was treading and leaves the room in silence for a few moments, letting the gravity of her words sink in.

Eventually, she walks back to her original place and when she glances back at the Commander, she sees Remus sniffing at her feet before jumping up and clawing into her boots. Lexa’s eyes widen, unsure of what to do, and Clarke saves her from reacting by leaning over the steps to the dais and sweeping Remus up with one arm. She cradles him to her chest, earning an annoyed yelp.

_Of course, he likes her…_

“Thank you for listening, and I hope you will consider what I’m offering.” She places him back on the floor, and he thankfully stays put. “I would like to request for the vote to be set two weeks from now, I think it’ll give time for me to get to know each of you individually, and it gives you time to come up with any questions for me.”

The Commander’s voice reverberates from behind her, “Does anyone object to this request?”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Clarke can only hope that it’s a good thing.

“Very well. We will reconvene this matter in two weeks’ time.”

Clarke turns the Commander to dismiss herself, but what she sees in those green depths makes her throat go dry. Lexa is looking at her like she’s the highest, most cosmic being that has ever existed - that she’s only grateful to be breathing the same _air_ as she is. Like she’s a hope she never dared to have faith in, because it would leave her broken if it didn’t come to fruition. And after all of the internalised hatred that Clarke has worked through since pulling that lever, being looked at like this leaves her entirely breathless. She doesn’t know whether to be furious or flattered, resentful or relieved, and she can only hope that whatever contradictory feeling wins this battle won’t lead her down a path that will leave her even more broken.

When her cubs brush against her legs, she blinks several times to bring herself back to the present and settles on a nod.

The back of her neck tingles as she walks back down the red carpet, knowing that those eyes are still burning into her. On instinct, she makes the usual clicking noise with her tongue, prompting her cubs to race after her.

“Sentries, prepare rooms for our new arrivals.”

“Now, I believe we were concluding talks of the trade routes between-” Clarke hears before the doors shut.

* * *

Two guards lead the pair through the tower and back into the elevator. When it comes to a stop, they direct them to the doors of two separate rooms across the hall from each other. Clarke thanks them, and Anya asks them to bring up their belongings from the passageway.

As soon as they are alone, Clarke turns to her mentor, blue eyes alight with elation. That could not have gone better. She went completely off the script she rehearsed in her head, but somehow it made it ten times as effective. The ambassadors were quite literally speechless.

Anya grabs her arm, pulling her into one of the rooms.

Out of all reactions from Anya, a bark of laughter was not one she expected. “Did you recognise Titus? I suspect he has already planned a thousand colourful ways to kill us both.”

Clarke’s lip quivers with amusement, remembering how flabbergasted everyone in that room was, and soon she’s laughing just as hard.

“Indra’s reaction was much better,” She wheezes. “She was looking at me as if I announced that I’m getting married to a fucking _pauna_.”

That comment sets the two of them off again, and Clarke strains with the effort to stay on her feet. They shouldn’t be reacting like this, it’s entirely unlike them, and they have so many other things to worry about… sending a messenger to Camp Jaha… someone overhearing, but the anticipation and nerves for the past few days have found the perfect way to untangle themselves, so why try to contain it?

A sharp knock on their door has both of them rushing to regain straight faces.

“ _Min yu op_ ,” Anya monotones, much more adept at shutting off any and all emotion when duty calls.

Clarke doesn’t trust her voice yet, and for the first time, she’s _trying_ to reflect on something upsetting to suppress any sign of her amusement. Turns out, she doesn’t need to, because the person who walks in does the job perfectly.

“Clarke, Anya,” Lexa nods to both of them. “I am glad you are… finding amusement in these circumstances.”

Indra slips in after them, remaining as impassive as ever, bar the slight quirking of her lips.

“ _Heda_ ,” Anya says, dipping her head in respect as if she didn’t just hear them laughing like _goufas_.

The group remains locked in an uncomfortable silence, and Clarke tries her best not to show any sign of how much it affects her when green eyes land on her, “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Clarke avoids eye contact with Lexa, focusing on a point beside her head instead. It’s safer that way. Now that their initial ‘reunion’ is over with, a familiar and unaddressed anger seeps into her bloodstream, sizzling and searing, but now is not the time to let it erupt. She subdues it and schools her features, slipping back into the person she was in the throne room. “Yes. I need someone to bring a message to my people, as fast as possible.”

Understanding dawns on the Commander’s features and her eyes flash dangerously, “They did not know about this?”

“…No.” At the utter bewilderment on their faces, Clarke elaborates. “There was no time! We were attacked by eight _Azgeda_ warriors in the _middle_ of _Trikru_ territory.”

Clarke watches as Lexa stiffens, and Indra growls in open contempt. “We figured that the Ice Nation would make a move any day now if they are _this_ disrespectful to the borders, so we came here as fast as possible. My reappearance will probably stump their plans, and it buys us some time to figure out who’s working with them.”

Lexa blinks, taken aback by their foresight. She probably knows she’d be dead in a matter of weeks if Clarke had not shown up, “Thank you for coming.”

Clarke raises her brow, needing to make one thing very clear. “I’m here because it’s the right thing for my people.”

The Commander remains unphased, “I expected no less.” She turns to Indra, “You will organise our fastest rider to bring a message to the _Skaikru_ camp.”

_“Sha, Heda,”_

In that moment, the guards return with Clarke and Anya’s belongings, placing them beside the door. Clarke pulls out a piece of parchment and pencil from one of her bags and scribbles down a quick note to her mom, telling her she’s in Polis and to bring Kane with her as soon as she can. Remus sniffs at the bags after completing his exploration of the room, and Rome.. has rolled onto his back and is being pet by Indra? That’s something she was not expecting to see. He seems to have a thing for _Trikru_ generals.

She hands the message to Indra, who straightens and takes it, holding out her other arm. Clarke’s eyes soften at the gesture, and she grips the warrior’s forearm. The beginning of their alliance was rocky, with fights breaking out between their people over all sorts of reasons. Each had their own prejudices towards the other, it was like a virus of scorn infected both parties. But over time, the grounders gained respect for her people, and vice versa. It was a slow process, and not without setbacks, but the fact that Clarke is now shaking hands with the chief of a grounder village that one of her people massacred? It proves to her that peace _is_ possible. They are living examples of it, just like her relationship with Anya.

“It is good to see you, Clarke of the Sky People.”

She smiles, “You too, Indra. Whoever delivers the message should prepare for two others to come back with them, if that’s okay.”

Indra nods, bending to ruffle Rome’s fur once more before taking her leave. When Clarke turns back to the other two women in the room, they are locked in an unwavering stare-down. The similarities in their posture are glaringly obvious, Lexa must have picked up most of her habits from Anya when she was a child.

Clarke coughs, causing them to snap their gazes to her, “I’ll just.. give you two some time.”

With that, Clarke grabs her bags and clicks her tongue, leaving the room with her cubs in tow.

_Pauna -_ Gorilla  
 _Goufa -_ Child

* * *

Lexa has no idea what to think. She’s blinking more than usual, wondering if she’s somehow dreaming, but each time she opens her eyes, it’s the same thing. Her former _fos_ , back from the dead for a second time. And with her… Clarke; The girl who carries a piece of her heart as she is mercilessly dragged along with it. When their eyes met for the first time, Lexa feared that her weakness could be read by anyone in that room. That same pull is _still_ there, even after everything.

It’s almost too good to be true… Lexa didn’t even have to ask her to join the Coalition. It was _Clarke’s_ idea. And apparently, she’s been right under her nose in _Trikru_ territory this entire time. It’s a bit disconcerting, to say the least. But she had help, and the source of it is standing before her in a now empty room.

Lexa swallows, trying to find the right words. On one hand, she’s incredibly grateful that her mentor is alive and here with her again, but on the other, she’s furious.

Anya notices her struggle and decides to fill in the missing spaces for Lexa. “I left the night we cleared out _Maun-de_. I had a vision in the form of a dream, it showed me her location and some other things, and from then I knew what I had to do.”

Lexa begins pacing in the middle of her general’s explanation, but now turns to face her with barely concealed anger, “I thought you were dead, Anya! I accused _Azgeda_ of capturing you!”

Anya’s lips form a thin line, clearly unprepared for the outburst.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, with much less fervour. The ire drains out of her system, leaving a headache and exhaustion in its wake.

“Clarke would never have come with me if she knew you were apart of my plan,” Anya explains, and Lexa almost winces at the truth of it. Clarke hates her and has every reason to, she knows that. It’s hard, though, to see and hear about it from someone other than herself for a change.

“But that is not the only reason. I was angry, the deal with the _Maunon_ meant that Arin would not be cured. And I deserved blood.”

Lexa opens her mouth to relay the same thing she has told the ambassadors at every meeting in the past months, “I-“

“No. You do not need to justify your decisions to me, _strikon_.” Lexa bristles, both at being interrupted and being called little again. Some things will never change. And yet, at the same time, she feels a comfort so great that she’s afraid it’s impossible to conceal. No one that matters has said that to her… day in and day out the key people have questioned her about her decision; she’s forced to defend it at every turn. They’re _looking_ for war.

Anya continues, realising just how much Lexa needs to hear this. “It is okay. There was no right thing to do that night. I do not hold it against you, I merely needed time.”

Lexa feels her shoulders sag as a weight is lifted from them. She has always taken Anya’s opinions to heart.

“I’m sorry about your brother, _seda_.”

A sad smile forms on her former teacher’s features, nodding in response.

Historically, Lexa has never been great at timing, and she definitely doesn’t want to bring up the next topic after the words she just spoke.

As always, Anya reads her like a book. “There is something else you need to say. Speak true.”

“I cannot let you go unpunished for abandoning your duties. My strength is already in question, and while I am of the opinion that dreams like yours are not to be ignored… It will send the wrong message,” Lexa says with her façade in place, but it comes out quieter than she intended. This could put a wedge in her relationship with Anya yet again, and that’s the last thing she needs. She could count the people she trusts on one hand.

“I figured. My _skaigada_ will not be happy, she is stubborn, but I will speak to her.”

Lexa’s heart drops, the weight that left her shoulders coming back with even more pressure. _Clarke_. She had not considered that this would damage their relationship even more. Her chest tightens, and it takes an incredible amount of restraint to stop her lips from trembling.

“Is Clarke.. I mean, is she- Is she okay?”

_Commander of the 12 Clans, reduced to a stuttering fool when asking about a girl from the sky. If only Titus was listening to this._

Anya regards her for a few seconds, trying to decide how much to say. “At first, no. I had never seen a soul so broken.” And if it’s possible that the remaining pieces of Lexa’s heart can be crushed again, this surely does it.

“But she has worked hard, and while she will carry her decisions with her for the rest of her days, I believe she is much better. You must ask her yourself if you wish to know if she is okay. She will talk to you in time.”

Lexa isn’t so sure of the last part, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She finds little solace in hearing that Clarke is better now; she needs to see for herself. “I doubt she will ever speak to me—”

“She will. Do not give up.”

Anya says those words with such finality that Lexa doesn’t bother arguing, although she doesn’t believe it. She can’t _allow_ herself to even think thoughts of reconciliation for fear that they will never come true. That, and she doesn’t deserve to harbour hope, not after the pain she caused her.

The past months have been… tough. Every time she closes her eyes, the only thing she sees is the way Clarke’s lips were parted in disbelief, brows furrowed and blue eyes shimmering with tears when she realised what Lexa had done. It’s as if an entire ocean evaporated in the blink of an eye, one that was filled to the brim with hope and trust and _care_. The second she returned to her tent, she hurled the maps and models from the tables before sinking to the floor and pulling her legs into her chest. It was the first time she cried since Costia’s head was sent to her… and Lexa recognised that feeling well.

 _Weakness_. 

She let her traitorous tears fall for five long minutes until she pushed that pain, too, into her carefully constructed and bulging cage of suppressed emotions. Her heart cried out when she did it, but she beat it and gagged it until it obeyed her once more.

_To be Commander is to be alone._

“Come, we will speak to her now. She deserves to know of the punishment, although I do not know if it’s wise for you to be there when I tell her.”

“I must. I cannot hide from my choices any longer, it is time to face them,” Lexa decides, knowing it will mean more to Clarke in the long run if she’s there. Besides, any excuse to spend time with her is one she will take.

“Spoken like a true warrior, _strikon_ ,” Anya says with a smirk, crossing the distance and holding out her arm.

Lexa grips her forearm, letting a small smile sneak through her mask. “Do not call me that in her presence.”

She raises a brow, “I will do what I wish.”

“As you’ve proven so far,” Lexa responds dryly, letting go of Anya's arm and turning to the door.

_Strikon -_ Little one  
 _Seda -_ Teacher

* * *

While giving the two women some space, Clarke drinks in the luxuries that her new room has to offer. The bed is bigger than any she’s ever set her eyes on — let alone slept in. It’s covered in furs, and the intricate designs of the headboard make the artist within Clarke burst with awe. She almost feels guilty for having a bed like this to sleep in, thinking that it should be reserved for actual royalty.

To the left of the room is a desk, and a sitting area decked with a sofa, armchair and another table along with a balcony that overlooks the city.

There’s even a private bathroom… with a working toilet?! She flushes it twice to be sure. Beside it is an enormous tub, and she assumes that handmaidens would bring water for when she wants to bathe. There’s even a mirror, along with a wooden toothbrush and a jar of green puree she assumes is the grounder version of toothpaste.

Rome and Remus sniff every corner of the room, only satisfied when they’ve explored each nook and cranny. To Clarke’s dismay, they claw their way up the sofa and curl into each other. She’s only been in here a minute and has already damaged the furniture. Even so, she sits beside them and runs her hands through their fur, earning appreciative purring from both.

She’s surprised at how numb she feels in this moment, as if there aren’t forty distinct threats and old wounds waiting to reopen. She doesn’t know how to feel, what to think… how to _act_ in Lexa’s presence. She can’t deny that there’s still that same pull between them, one that runs much deeper than what she could ever hope to understand. But she’s here for her people, to be a better leader and to work for peace. That's all.

A sharp knock to her door ends her moment of reprieve.

“Come in,” Clarke calls.

To her surprise, both Lexa and Anya enter the room.

“I see our _natstepa_ have made themselves comfortable,” Anya says, walking over to pet their sleeping cubs.

“Yep, and they’ve already started destroying the couch,” Clarke chuckles, knowing that they are revelling in the attention.

Anya raises her brows in mock surprise, “Only? I expected worse.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke notices the Commander shifting awkwardly, unaccustomed to their usual banter. Her natural instincts implore her to put the girl out of her discomfort, and Clarke has to resist rolling her eyes at her own warring feelings. Lexa’s comfort is _not_ her problem, but she does want to know why she’s still here.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” Clarke asks, turning to her.

“Yes. I have already told Anya, but I thought I should tell you myself.” She swallows and brings her hand to rest on the hilt of her sword, “I cannot let abandoning one’s duties go unpunished. Anya will spend the first two days of her stay here standing in the dungeons.”

Clarke tenses, indignation flaring through her veins, “Absolutely not!”

Lexa simply clenches her jaw.

“So, now you’re speechless,” Clarke can’t help but let out a bitter bout of laughter. “Is it your life’s purpose to hurt _everyone_ I care about?”

A firm grip around her arm freezes the fury where it began coursing through her anew. “Enough.”

Clarke shakes off the touch and rounds on her mentor, “Anya, you said that you wouldn’t be harmed for helping me!”

“No, _skaigada_. I said that I would not be killed.”

Clarke deflates, “So, you knew this would happen?”

“I did.”

That’s why Anya refused to eat or drink anything since this morning, she was already preparing herself for it; fasting would mean she wouldn’t have to relieve herself. Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to think of something, _anything_ , to get her _fos_ out of this. She can’t help but feel slightly betrayed, and the other two in the room are looking at her like she’s a ticking time-bomb, and they’re right to, because Clarke quickly devises a plan that she knows will hit home for at least one of them.

Clarke crosses her arms and juts her chin out in defiance with a resolve in place. “Fine. But I’m doing your punishment with you.”

“Clarke-“

“You will-“

“No. I’m doing this, and there’s nothing either of you can say or do to stop me.” Clarke gets immense satisfaction from the way both of them seem to shrink.

A suffocating silence blankets the room, the tension as taut as a bow.

“ _Heda,_ could I speak with Clarke alone? I will join you in the dungeons shortly,” Anya asks without taking her eyes away from her _seken._

Lexa dips her head and leaves the room in a few long strides.

When she turns to Clarke, she pins her with a ferocious glare, lips in a thin line. Clarke doesn’t let it intimidate her, refusing to drop her own scowl.

“ _Branwoda!_ You are too stubborn for your own good. How will our _natstepa_ be taken care of?” She steps right into Clarke’s space. “You cannot afford to be in a weak state. What if someone challenges you the moment you complete the punishment? Are you so arrogant to believe that you can fight a highly trained warrior without sleep, food _or_ rest in two days?”

Clarke pales, not having considered that. It just seemed like the right thing to do…

“I-I didn’t think.”

“Correct. You did not think.”

Clarke balls her hands into fists, “You should have told me about the punishment, Anya! A heads up would have been nice.”

“And what would you have done if I had? You would not have come with me, and if I said it later you would have left without me.”

Clarke knows it’s true. If she had been aware that Anya would be punished in such a torturous way, she’d have snuck off to Polis in the dead of night. To hell with showing up unannounced.

“I see your point.” Clarke paces back and forth, putting some space between them again, “I’m still going to stay in the cell with you, and I’ll fast. But I won’t do the standing part. I’ll just be there with you, and I’ll leave twice a day, so Rome and Remus have time outside to eat and relieve themselves. How’s that?”

“It is better. But you really do not need to do this. I am more than fine by myself.”

“I know you are. But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Clarke doesn’t even want to think about the demons her mind would summon if she was forced to stand upright for two days straight. Weak body, weak mind is what Anya always told her. And Clarke isn’t naïve enough to think that the general doesn’t have her own experiences and choices that haunt her.

She survived a battle where all 300 of her warriors lost their lives. The survivor’s guilt she must still be feeling to this day… Let alone her time in the mountain. The woman literally bit a tracker out of her own arm to make sure she would never have to go back there.

And after all of the care that her mentor extended to her over the past two months, nothing will stop her from being there for her in whatever way possible.

Anya sighs, “Then let us go, they are waiting downstairs.”

* * *

The Commander’s instructions thoroughly confused the guards, to have _Wanheda_ in the cell with the prisoner… and to let her out twice a day. Apparently, it’s unheard of in grounder culture for people to sit with someone being punished.

Rome and Remus were also quite annoyed to have moved from a soft couch to a cold, dirty cell. Their squeaks quieted once Clarke sat down though, opting to cuddle into the space between her legs.

The cell is small, and Anya’s arms are tied from either side, much like Lincoln when they held him in the dropship.

For the rest of the day, they don’t speak. They don’t have to. Being in each other’s presence is enough support for now. Clarke snuck the fourth Harry Potter book with her, and she reads for a few hours before her eyes start to droop.

“Sleep, _skaigada_.” Anya prompts with a smirk, “I will still be here.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at the attempt to lighten their sombre mood, “I don’t doubt it. But wake me up if you… uh, need anything.”

“ _Ait.”_

“I mean it,” Clarke says while she adjusts herself into a sleeping position, careful of jostling the cubs.

“ _Reshop,”_ Anya grunts in response.

It takes a considerable amount of time for Clarke to fall asleep, unaccustomed to sleeping on the hard ground. Her mind races with thoughts of the coming days, of Lexa and whether she felt it too when they made eye contact for the first time, and finally she thinks of her people. It’s only a matter of time before her mom and Kane arrive, and the thought of seeing them again both terrifies and excites her. And although the next two days without food or a bed will undoubtedly test her, she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else; her _fos_ would do the same for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd post this a day earlier, I know I left it on a pretty terrible cliffhanger the last time. I'm glad to finally bring Lexa into the story, and I hope you enjoy the chapter, I rewrote certain parts many times until I finally felt satisfied with it. Hope you're all doing well!! <3


	10. Something to Talk About

Clarke doesn’t even have the chance to fall into her usual nightmares because of how broken her sleep is. The concrete floor presses into all the wrong places, and she’s sure her back is, once again, dotted with bruises. She definitely prefers receiving them from combat training than a lack of sleep.

Therefore, Clarke sighs in relief when light streams into the cell, a sure sign that this long and miserable night is over.

Anya, as expected, shows no sign of weakness. She stands strong, but with her head hung. Clarke knows she’s awake though, she’s become quite accustomed to what her breathing pattern is like in sleep.

Eventually, a guard opens their cell and tells Clarke that she has an hour. He also hands her two bowls and a flask of formula for her cubs; she gave the recipe to them the day before. Just like every other guard she has interacted with so far; he avoids eye contact. It’s beginning to freak her out a little - she’s _not_ medusa.

Clarke nods and follows him up to the ground floor of the tower with her cubs in tow, and she hastily tries to comb through her hair to make herself look a little more presentable. If the reactions from the previous day are anything to go by, she may be the center of attention for the next while when she walks through a room.

To Clarke’s confusion, the Commander is waiting for her at the top of the stairs. 

“ _Wanheda_.” She nods, “I will escort you outside.”

Clarke narrows her eyes, wondering why Lexa is doing this. She can’t exactly question her motives in front of her guards and tower staff, so she settles on hearing what she has to say first.

Lexa hands her a shawl, much like the one she covered herself with in TonDC. Clarke drapes it over herself and ducks her head as they exit the tower, wanting to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She’d never make it outside the walls of Polis within an hour if the same thing as yesterday happened.

The Commander leads her to a side exit in the wall and orders the guards that followed them to remain there… which gives them time to speak openly.

_That’s a setup for disaster._

Rome and Remus bound ahead of them, clearly happy to be out of the cell. They start play-fighting and roll around in the grass, letting out an occasional whine when one of them sinks their teeth into the other a bit too enthusiastically.

Clarke smiles at them fondly and removes the shawl covering her head.

“What are their names?”

Clarke turns and considers Lexa for a moment, wondering what her game is. She sees genuine curiosity in her green eyes, but that makes little sense. Lexa is not one to make small talk.

“What are you doing?” She shoots back bluntly.

A small crease appears between her brows, “I am not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb, Lexa.” They both pause when she says her name… it’s the first time she’s dared to since that night. Clarke recovers quickly, though, “I _mean_ , why are you doing this? You couldn’t have ordered one of your guards to escort me outside?”

Lexa’s reply comes instantly, and if Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d think she rehearsed it. “I assumed you may want to ask about the ambassadors after the meeting yesterday.”

Clarke deliberates this and concludes it’s a good enough reason.

“Rome and Remus.”

When Lexa’s brow only furrows even further, Clarke expands. “Our cubs are called Rome and Remus.”

“How do you tell them apart?”

Clarke feels her lips quirk upwards, and she turns to the field, watching them rather than the brunette beside her.

“Rome loves Anya, he follows her everywhere. It pissed her off at first and she’d always push him away, but that just made him even more persistent,” Clarke can’t help but smile, the memories are still so vivid. “They both grew on her eventually, and I’ve even caught her calling them _ai fyucha_ when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

When Clarke glances to Lexa, she is looking at her with such a burning intensity that it makes her turn away again. Her eyes are filled to the brim with what can only be described as a deep _longing_. For what, though? Clarke isn’t sure. Maybe it’s the fact that Clarke has memories of the past few months that can evoke such positive feelings… Or maybe it’s the relationship she has now with her former mentor?

“Remus has taken a similar liking to me, and that’s the only way we could tell them apart at first,” Clarke finishes, swallowing down the nerves that rise.

_Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask._

“At first?” Lexa prompts.

_Fuck._

“Remus’s eye colour changed a few weeks ago… they’re green now,” She answers with a sigh, adding on, “Same as yours.”

Clarke thinks she hears Lexa’s breath stutter, but she can’t be sure. She writes it off as a trick of the wind, and they’re saved from talking about it further when Remus dashes up to them and circles Lexa’s legs.

“He seems to like you,” Clarke considers. “I’ve never seen him try to claw his way into someone’s lap like he did in the meeting. He’s usually much more patient than that.”

If someone had told her she’d be making casual talk with the Commander within a day of arriving in Polis, she would have thought them crazy. But this sort of conversation is safe, it’s familiar, and a lot less painful than acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Now that she’s not surrounded by the ambassadors, Lexa reaches down and holds out her hand for the cub to sniff. He rubs his cheek against her hand and purrs in appreciation when she runs her hand through his fur.

Against all of her wishes, Clarke’s heart swells at the sight. She almost growls at the sensation, because this is _not_ happening again. She bends down and divides the contents of the flask into the bowls, and both cubs slurp at the substance with great enthusiasm. They finish it quickly, and Remus returns to his new friend, enjoying the attention.

A silence settles between them, and Clarke finally takes the time to scrutinize Lexa. She observes the bags under her eyes that have gotten much deeper and that she’s slightly paler than before. Her cheekbones are more defined, and Clarke thinks she’s lost weight. After a few minutes of petting the cub, the Commander straightens again.

“You should know that I take no pleasure in Anya’s punishment, Clarke.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have reacted like that towards you yesterday.” It’s as close to an apology as she can muster.

_Not that she even deserves that, but here we are._

“It is fine and warranted given the.. situation.”

Clarke snorts, “Right. The _situation_.” She can’t stop the next words from tumbling out, “Which one? The one where you abandoned me at Mount Weather and left me to die?”

Much to Clarke’s growing anger, Lexa doesn’t rise to the bait. “Clearly you didn’t need my help.”

“Clearly.”

Clarke clicks her tongue to call her cubs and pivots away to walk back to the cell. She can’t do this right now. She hasn’t eaten in over a day, and her eyes are bloodshot and heavy from a lack of sleep.

“You’re angry, Clarke.”

She pauses mid-stride, turning her head to the side.

“And it’s easier to direct it towards me than to yourself.”

Clarke whirls on her then, “Don’t you _dare_ make assumptions on what I’ve gone through. I’m not angry at myself anymore, I did what I had to do with the choices _you_ left me with.”

Lexa raises her chin, “What would you have done if their leader had offered you the deal? Save your people at the price of mine? Would you really have chosen differently?”

“I don’t betray my friends! And you can’t compare our situations, the only law you have is blood must have blood. But apparently, it only applies to my people’s crimes.”

Clarke thinks of how the alliance solely depended on Finn’s death, that Lexa and her people could _not_ under any circumstance move forward without blood for the deaths of the eighteen villagers. It was perfectly reasonable, and on the Ark they would have floated him for less. The Mountain killed thousands of Lexa’s people, and as they marched to it, ‘jus drein jus daun’ could be heard from miles away due to the army who roared it. Maybe that’s another reason the Coalition is so fragile now; if their only law didn’t apply to their greatest enemy, why should it apply to any other wrong-doers?

“But you did,” The Commander nods her head, as if she’s confirming her words as she says them, and conveniently ignoring the second part of Clarke’s rant. “You had friends in Mount Weather.”

“Those deaths are on you too,” Clarke watches as the brunette swallows. “The only difference is, you have no honour, and I had no choice.”

Lexa clenches her jaw, and Clarke knows she has no good response to her words. “It helps not one to dwell on the past.”

“No. What does help is to _learn_ from the past, and believe me, I won’t make the same mistake of trusting you again. I’m here for my people, and you’re lucky that I at least trust that you want what’s best for your own.”

Clarke steps closer until she’s only a few feet away.

“Let’s not forget that your failure to stick to your own words and laws would have caused a _war_ if I had not showed up.”

Another step forward, and the small amount of space left between them is charged with tension. 

“I’m here for my people,” She repeats once more, dropping her voice to a hiss, “Don’t talk to me unless it concerns them.”

And with that, Clarke spins on her heel and stomps away with her cubs in tow.

* * *

Once Clarke gets back into the cell, she kicks the concrete wall in her fury. Naturally, that doesn’t end so well, and she ends up hissing in pain and grumbling profanities so creative that even Anya is pulled from her haze.

The general swallows, the lack of moisture making her voice much rougher than usual, “I take it that _Heda_ was the one to escort you outside?”

That restarts a new string of swear words as Clarke paces up and back in the small space, and it’s all that Anya needs for confirmation.

“She’s so fucking infuriating!”

“I am aware. You must breathe, _skaigada_.”

Clarke takes a few minutes, using her usual techniques to calm herself down.

“ _Os._ Now, what happened?” The general raises a brow in curiosity.

“I don’t even want to talk about it… She’s not worth it,” Clarke replies as a headache throbs at her temples. She has no energy left, and what’s worse is that they have a day and a half of this torture left. At least she doesn’t even need to relieve herself, there’s nothing in her body. Plus, she's grateful that she doesn't have to do the standing part.

Anya nods in response, respecting the blonde’s wishes. She has never pushed her into talking about something she isn’t ready to say, and Clarke appreciates that greatly.

For the rest of the day, Clarke attempts to keep reading her book, but after going over the same paragraph for the eleventh time, she gives up. Her residual anger isn’t letting her focus, and the consistent growl of pain resonating in her stomach along with the new pang in her foot keeps her from napping.

Instead, she wonders if Lexa will be there to escort her tonight after their… argument? Whatever the right word for it is, Clarke prays that she won’t have to see the Commander for the rest of this punishment. She’s exhausted and miserable and wants nothing more than to fall into the huge bed of furs in her room, and it’s making it too easy to lose control of her temper.

She doesn’t even care too much about the decision Lexa made in the midst of a war… the consequences are Lexa’s to live with. No, she cares about the personal part. The part where Lexa _kissed_ her, made her feel _special_ and _wanted_ , only to turn her back without a second glance. _That’s_ what stings.

But how can she communicate that without opening herself up to further hurt? What if Lexa confirms that yes, she was simply using Clarke?

Clarke doesn’t think she could take it, and yet, it’s still much easier to believe.

* * *

In the evening, the same guard comes to let her out of the cell with fresh bowls and a flask of milk. Clarke absentmindedly wonders if the ones from this morning are still sitting in the grass. When she gets to the top of the stairs, she almost drops them.

“ _Wanheda,_ ” The Commander says with a nod. Clarke opens her mouth to tell her to go float herself, but the brunette continues before she gets the chance. “I thought about our discussion earlier.”

Lexa is looking at her with something close to guilt in her eyes, and it makes Clarke roll her eyes. Still, she nods and puts on the shawl.

Once they get outside of the wall once again, “If you’re just going to-”

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke’s mouth snaps shut, unsure if she heard correctly.

“… You’re what?”

“I am sorry,” Lexa repeats, pronouncing each syllable slowly.

Clarke blinks, taken aback. “For?”

“For assuming how you feel, it was wrong of me.” Her features harden then, “However, I cannot apologise for my decision at the Mountain. I was doing what I believed was right for my people.”

Clarke thinks about Octavia’s anger for letting the bomb drop on TonDC. It’s something she can’t apologise for. She thinks of killing Finn and Raven’s reactions. She can’t apologise for that either. And then there’s Jasper… she killed the woman he loves. It’s the same thing. An apology expresses remorse, it’s a promise to act differently, and as grim as it sounds, Clarke wouldn’t change any of those specific actions.

“I know that, Lexa. I wasn’t expecting an apology for that.”

“Clarke, when you join the Coalition, your people will become my people.”

The unsaid words attached to that statement hang between them like magnets, trying to pull their way back to each other. They don’t need to be voiced, Clarke hears them loud and clear; _I will never be in a position again where betrayal is even an option_. A part of Clarke’s heart that she locked away thrashes against the cage she wrestled it into, but it’s not enough to escape.

Her unspoken fears subdue it once again, and Clarke sighs as she drops to sit on the grass. She readies the milk for her cubs and pulls her knees to her chest. She looks up and realises that the sky is a rich orange, and Clarke knows that this sunset will be mesmerising.

The figure beside her remains taut until Clarke pats the space beside her in an invitation to sit with her.

Lexa looks back towards the wall and hesitates, but when Clarke raises an eyebrow, she sinks down beside her and crosses her legs, leaving a respectable distance between them.

They sit in silence for a bit, and after her cubs run around for a bit, Remus settles in the space between Lexa’s crossed legs, curling into a ball. Clarke finds it just as endearing as the last time the two of them interacted, and she curses herself for feeling this way while Rome stretches in front of Clarke in an obvious demand for his stomach to be rubbed.

“You say you do not expect an apology for the decision I made.”

“Yes. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.”

“For what do you, then?”

Clarke’s heart rate increases uncomfortably. They’re venturing into dangerous territory, and she needs more time. Still, blue meets green, and Clarke’s words come out much quieter than intended.

“You made me feel like you actually care about me.”

“Clarke, I told you that I care. I made that decision with-”

“Your head and not your heart. So you’ve said.” Clarke shakes her head and drops her gaze, “I just wish I could believe you.”

Lexa furrows her brow, “You think I am deceiving you?”

Clarke’s lack of a response speaks louder than words ever could. Yes, because it’s simply safer to believe that Lexa never cared for her; that she’s the cold-hearted and ruthless person that haunts her dreams each night. No, because she _knows_ Lexa. Therefore, she doesn’t confirm or deny it.

“I’m sorry that I caused you pain, Clarke. I never intended to hurt you.” Lexa says those words with such sincerity that the blonde turns to look at her again.

She wishes she didn’t.

Green eyes are alight with pain, and it's a certain suffering that Clarke has only ever seen reflected in her own eyes. That’s when she remembers Anya’s words those many weeks ago ‘ _It is not only your heart that was broken that night’._ And for a second, she allows herself to believe those words. The shattered pieces of her heart cry out like they’ve found the glue that might be able to stick them back together, and Clarke has to bite back a sob at how conflicted and utterly _torn_ she feels.

And yet, even in her dehydrated state, a lone, traitorous tear trails down Clarke’s cheek. She hates that she _wants_ to believe Lexa, that it’s already becoming harder to cling on to the pain that somehow became a safety net for her to fall into. To hear those words, uttered with such tenderness, when all she’s seen of Lexa in the past months is the haunting version of her that her subconscious conjures at night…

“I’m not.. I just- I can’t, Lexa.”

_I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet._

“It’s okay.”

Clarke has half a mind to yell at her to stop being so understanding, for it’s so much safer to have the Lexa from her nightmares exist rather than this one. This one is dangerous, because Clarke knows that if Lexa keeps this up, the same piece of her heart that thrashed out earlier _will_ find a way to escape.

And so, they watch as the sky turns from a deep orange to a fiery array of pink. Every so often, Clarke can feel a tingling at the side of her head where Lexa glances at her, and much too soon, their hour is up. Remus gives Lexa an annoyed whine when she gets up, causing the corners of her lips to tug inconspicuously.

Once they get to the staircase leading down to the dungeons, Lexa gives Clarke her customary nod.

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

The small smile from earlier returns. “Yes.”

“ _Reshop, Heda_ ,” Clarke says before walking down the steps and disappearing around a corner.

“Goodnight, _Klark kom Skaikru_ ,” Lexa whispers after her, green eyes shining brighter than they have in months.

* * *

This time, when Clarke returns to the cell, she puts her back against the nearest wall and slides down until her butt hits the floor while her cubs circle Anya’s feet and sit beside her in silent comfort.

“So, I assume she escorted you once again?” The general questions with amusement evident in her tone.

Clarke pulls her knees to her chest and exhales loudly, “I’m glad to be of entertainment.”

“It seems like she did not mess it up so badly this time.”

“No.” And after a few seconds of pause, Clarke asks, “What was that thing you told me before about forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness is not for the person who hurt you. It is a gift you give to yourself.”

Clarke mulls it over for a while, and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t fault what Anya said. It’s not that she’s going to forgive Lexa, that will _not_ be happening anytime soon. If it’s something that is a gift to herself, then she doesn’t deserve it. Neither of them do.

“Sometimes, I hate how right you are about everything.”

A raspy chuckle follows, and soon after, Clarke lies down to find some sleep.

* * *

Clarke has no idea how much time has passed since she began tossing and turning. All she is aware of now are the harsh and fast breaths that are coming from her mentor. She sees movement near Anya’s legs, and a second later a concerned squeak from Rome vibrates through the cell.

_Is she having a panic attack?_

Clarke knows that unlike herself, Anya would never admit to needing help. So, she decides to offer it indirectly.

She shuffles to the edge of the cell where a small beam of moonlight gives her enough light.

“Anya, I’m going to read you some of my book, okay? Focus on my voice.”

Clarke doesn’t get a reply, which she takes as a sign of agreement, so she flips to where she last stopped in chapter 13 and starts to read.

“ _The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still…_ ”

After a few minutes of reading, Anya’s breathing returns to normal and she stands a little straighter than before, though her head is still slung over.

This truly is a cruel way to pay for a crime, and Clarke thinks she’d prefer ten shock lashes from the Exodus Charter over this.

“Was it customary for people to be turned into ferrets as punishment in the old world?”

Clarke chuckles, “Yep, it was actually a common practice.”

“ _Mochof,_ Clarke,” Anya says after a couple minutes in silence.

“Anytime,” she responds with a smile. She’d gladly forgo eating and sleeping if it means she can be of help to someone she cares about.

* * *

Clarke gets a few more hours’ sleep before sunlight streams into the cell. By now, her stomach is clenching painfully, and her throat is so dry she thinks her voice might fail her.

Today, the punishment ends. The knowledge that she’ll be able to eat, bathe _and_ sleep in an actual bed tonight keeps Clarke going. She can’t fathom how Anya is still standing and conscious, she just knows she would never have lasted if she chose to stand too.

Clarke finds herself looking forward to the moment the guard will let her out, and she convinces herself it’s _purely_ because she’ll get to breathe fresh air and stretch her legs.

She’s already standing by the time he finally comes, and she takes the food for her cubs before striding to the stairs. On the way up, she masks her features into a look of indifference and runs her hands through her hair before putting on the shawl.

As predicted, Lexa stands at the top of the stairs, looking every bit as commanding and majestic as always. It’s unfair, really, for someone to look _this_ immaculate all the time.

“ _Wanheda_ ,” She greets with a nod.

Clarke responds in kind, “ _Heda_.”

They exit through the usual side door and make their way to the edge of the wall. The cubs dart through the gate as soon as it’s open, and Clarke smiles at their impatience.

As they walk side by side, Lexa turns her gaze to the blonde, “We have much to discuss this morning.”

“No beating around the bush, huh?” Clarke replies, watching as the Commander’s brow furrows in confusion.

“I would think it is normal to avoid beating bushes, unless you are collecting berries from a tree-”

“Lexa, it’s a figure of speech for when someone is very direct.”

“I see.”

_Is she actually blushing?_

After a beat, “Is ‘not beating around the bush’ a bad thing in your culture?”

“No, it’s-” Clarke shakes her head, how have they strayed so far off topic? “Just tell me what we have to talk about.”

Lexa straightens, “Very well. The Ambassadors are becoming restless, many of them wish to meet with you as soon as your self-imposed punishment ends.”

Clarke ignores the last part, “That’s a good thing, right?”

Lexa nods, “It is”

“My mom and Kane should get here either tomorrow or the day after. Once I get them to agree to join the Coalition, I’ll start meeting with the Ambassadors.”

“And if they do not agree?”

“They will,” Clarke says firmly. There’s no other option.. it’s that, or war. “Tell the Ambassadors that the leaders of _Skaikru_ are coming here to talk to me about things that we can offer them, and that I’ll start meeting with them in a couple of days.”

Lexa dips her head, and suddenly Clarke’s mind is racing with thoughts of the coming weeks. As nice as her time starving in a cell has been, she has a war to stop outside of it.

“What should I know about the vote? Is it a majority rules kind of system?”

“Nine of twelve ambassadors must vote in favour of _Skaikru_ joining.”

Clarke hums, “That makes sense, so it’s a 75% majority. How much convincing will I have to do?”

“I expect that you have six votes already, if not more. The _Trikru_ are closely allied with _Floukru_ , _Yujleda_ , _Boudalan_ , _Ingranronakru_ and _Podakru_. It will not be hard to ensure their votes.” Lexa runs her tongue over her front teeth in consideration, “The others, you may have some more convincing to do. But I have no doubt that _Skaikru_ will become the thirteenth clan.”

“How can you be so sure?”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arches, “You can be very persuasive, Clarke.”

Clarke lets a small smile grace her features. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you wish,” Lexa responds, her own smile tugging at her lips.

For the rest of their hour, Clarke asks at least fifty questions about each of the clans — what they’d be looking for in a trade, who their allies are, what their values are etc, and Lexa answers them all with just as much passion. They are both shocked at how fast the time went by, and Clarke can’t fathom how she just spent an entire hour in the Lexa’s company without letting her anger and hurt manifest into her words. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, she isn’t sure yet.

* * *

Once Clarke returns to the cell, she notices that Anya’s legs are trembling under her weight, and she immediately feels guilty for being allowed outside at all.

“Read more of your book, _skaigada_. I wish to know how it continues.”

Clarke grins, “Anya, you do realise that I’m reading from the middle of the _fourth_ book?”

She merely grunts in response, and Clarke sits down against the wall with her cubs snuggling into her sides and begins to read.

For the rest of the day, she alternates between reading and explaining certain parts that were in the other three books. She’s not sure if Anya is listening to every word, but she knows that it’s helping her get through the last few hours. And truthfully, it’s helping Clarke just as much.

That’s how the Commander finds them in the evening, with Clarke still reading and Anya’s head hung. Clearing her throat snaps both of their attention to her, and Clarke’s words die mid-sentence. Green eyes bore into her blue ones for a couple of seconds, and once again, she sees that same yearning in them before her usual mask clouds it.

“ _Onya kom Trikru_ , your punishment is hereby completed. You may return to your quarters, and I will see that dinner is brought to you,” Lexa says, signalling to a guard to open the doors and remove the cuffs that were keeping her arms spread out.

Once her arms are released, she lets out a groan and massages her wrists. Rome immediately claws into her boots, and despite the pain she must be feeling, Anya picks him up. Clarke watches as he nips at her neck and sinks his nails into her shirt, giving a relieved whine. It’s clear that he has no intention of being placed back on the ground.

They leave the cell quickly, neither of them wanting to spend any longer in there when their rooms are waiting for them. Clarke’s stomach growls loudly at the thought of food, and the sound echoes through the corridors causing the general to snort.

“Shut up,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes.

Anya’s signature smirk returns, “I did not say anything.”

“I spent the last two months with you, Anya. I can practically hear your thoughts.”

Eventually, they arrive at their floor, and it surprises Clarke when Lexa gets off at the same time as them.

“You live on this level too?”

“ _Sha._ It is the last room,” She responds, pointing at a door at the end of the corridor.

Clarke squashes the feeling as soon as it arises, but she briefly wonders what Lexa’s room looks like… whether she has personal belongings and objects she’s attached to. Clarke knows one thing for sure, and that is that there’ll be hundreds, if not thousands of candles. Lexa doesn’t go anywhere without them; Clarke was thoroughly surprised that she hadn’t burned down her tent during their weeks of planning a war.

Once they arrive in front of Clarke and Anya’s opposite doors, Lexa turns to them, “Dinner will be brought up in an hour, before then you will have some time to… rest.”

Clarke raises a brow, “You can just say we smell.”

“Very well. You reek, and I had someone draw baths for both of you.”

“ _Ait._ I will see you for dinner, _skaigada._ We will talk about how your training will continue tomorrow morning,” Anya says with a nod.

Clarke’s chin falls forward, “Training? Anya, you haven’t slept in two days.”

“I wouldn’t advise trying to convince her otherwise, Clarke. In my eight years as a _seken,_ I did not find anything that works,” Lexa interrupts with a sheepish smile.

Anya smirks, “I raised you well, _strikon_.”

“I believe I told you not to call me that,” Lexa says, and it comes out a lot less commanding than intended.

Her smirk only intensifies, “In Clarke’s presence, yes.”

Clarke watches with raised brows and her own smirk when Lexa’s ears tint pink.

“Enough. I will see you both tomorrow.” And with that, she glides down the hall and disappears behind the door to her quarters.

Clarke can’t help but laugh when Anya turns to her with mischievousness colouring her features. They nod in agreement to see each other soon and then head into their respective rooms for a much-needed bath.


	11. A Change of Perspective

After a feast like dinner with Anya where they went over her progress and things she still needs to work on, Clarke practically stumbled into her furs with Remus in tow. And _god_ , they are so comfortable. Screw training, screw _Azgeda_ … screw anyone or anything that might try to remove her from this bed.

While bathing before dinner, she actually had to resist _moaning_ multiple times, the feeling of her muscles relaxing one by one in _hot_ water rivaled by no other. She cleaned her hair with a lavender soap three times over to make sure it regained its softness - appearances will be important in the coming days. Finally, she washed her clothes and hung them on the door to the balcony.

In the morning, she’s awoken a little later than usual by a knock on her door. Thinking it would be Anya, she yells a muffled ‘come in’, unwilling to get out of her cocoon of warmth just yet. Remus seems to share her sentiments, as he lets out a soft peep and buries himself even deeper in the furs.

The door opens, and Clarke hears someone clearing their throat. Anya would not wait to check if she’s actually paying attention before talking, so she opens her eyes to see who dared to wake her from the first night of nightmare-free sleep she’s had in months.

“Apologies, _Wanheda_.” Clarke watches as a young girl with light brown hair and noticeable freckles dotting her cheeks shuffles awkwardly near the entrance, keeping her eyes downcast. “ _Heda_ requests that you join her for breakfast” 

It’s frustrating, that no tower staff will actually meet Clarke’s eyes, so she sits up and tries to put the girl at ease.

“Thank you, you can tell her I’ll be there soon. What’s your name?”

The girl flushes, “ _Faye_ _kom Floukru_. It is an honour to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. You work in the tower?” Clarke asks, although the answer is obvious.

“Yes. I am a handmaiden, _Heda_ gave me this job when my parents were taken by the _Maunon_.”

“Oh.. I’m sorry, about your parents. I lost my father before coming to the ground, I know it’s not easy.”

That prompts Faye to look up, her light brown eyes meeting Clarke’s blue.

_It’s really too early to have this sort of conversation._

“You are different from what I expected, _Wanheda_ ,” She says, wringing her hands in front of her body. “I must thank you for ensuring that no one else will suffer the same fate as my parents.”

A surge of nausea ripples through Clarke at the fact that she’s being _thanked_ for what she did. Anya warned her about this many times, but it still leaves an uneasiness pressing in her stomach. She’s been staring for a beat too long, because the girl is practically squirming under her gaze.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, I just did what I had to do for my people. And you can call me Clarke.”

Anya would disapprove of telling anyone to call her anything other than _Wanheda_ , something about keeping the power in the title, but Clarke doesn’t care. Besides, if Faye is going to work closely with her during her time in Polis, she’d prefer to not be reminded each morning of that name.

That seems to be too much for the girl to process at the moment, and Clarke fears that she’ll faint.

“I-I should go and tell _Heda_ that you will be with her soon,” She says in one breath, stumbling out the door again.

Clarke stares after her for a few seconds, wondering what she said that was so overwhelming. She looks down at Remus, who has meanwhile popped his head out of the furs, “We have a lot of things to get used to, don’t we?” She asks, and he squeaks in response, prompting Clarke to drop a kiss on his head.

She quickly gets dressed in tight, black pants and a dark blue shirt that clings to her in the right places. She tucks it in at the front, letting it hang at the back and combs her hair with a brush she found in the bathroom. Lastly, Clarke brushes her teeth and looks at herself in the mirror, surprised that the bags under her eyes have lessened significantly over night.

Clarke has never been too obsessive over her appearance or figure, but even she can’t deny that she looks _good_ right now. She pulls two strands of her hair back and ties them together like she used to do before Anya began braiding it each morning. Her mentor is probably still sleeping, and Clarke hopes she gets a few more hours of it, and that it’s as satisfying as the sleep she got. She deserves it.

Once Clarke and her cub are standing in front of Lexa’s door, a bundle of nerves coils inside her stomach. The guards on either side don’t acknowledge her presence, they simply stare ahead.

She steels herself and raps against the large door three times, listening as the sound echoes through the corridor. A couple seconds later, a decided “ _Min yu op!”_ follows.

Clarke takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, suddenly becoming aware that she’ll see what Lexa’s room looks like, and it feels much more intimate than it should.

_It’s just breakfast, Clarke, get it together._

“Clarke,” Lexa says with a nod, and Clarke spots her standing beside a table with four chairs around it in front of the balcony. She’s wearing her usual grey pants and a black shirt that goes just past her hips, and Clarke realises that she’s never seen her this casual before. She’s even missing her headpiece. The room is much more spacious, although the set-up is similar to her own.

Green eyes travel down her body as she comes closer, and Clarke feels her cheeks heating up.

She clears her throat, “Good morning”

Lexa’s eyes snap back up to hers, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights for a split second before her usual mask falls in place.

“A scout reported that the Chancellor and Kane will be here by sundown. I thought we could discuss the day over breakfast, and I can answer any more questions you have.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says, and she’s surprised that she means it. Lexa is really going through great lengths to make sure she’s comfortable.

They hold each other’s gazes for a few seconds longer than what would be considered appropriate until Clarke coughs awkwardly. That sets Lexa into action, and she drops into the chair closest to the balcony. Clarke follows suit and sets herself down onto a chair opposite her. She looks for Remus, and sees that he’s starting his customary exploration of the new room.

An array of food is laid out on the table, freshly cooked meat, fruit that Clarke has never seen before, bread, cheese along with many other things to try. She could definitely get used to this.

“Is every meal here a literal feast?” Clarke asks while piling her plate.

“For special guests, yes. The best cooks in the clans train here in Polis.”

Clarke raises an amused brow, “Special guests, huh?”

The corners of Lexa’s lips tug upwards, and Clarke can’t help but think of how wholesome a full smile would look on the girl. How long has it been since she _allowed_ herself to be that expressive? Better yet, how long has it been since she had a _reason_ to smile? 

Clarke shakes those thoughts away as Remus finishes his inspection of the room and hops onto Lexa’s lap. Their eye colour is the exact same, and Clarke almost rolls her eyes at the irony that two sets of green eyes are now trained on her. She tried to run away from the first pair and ended up with a second. Remus sniffs at Lexa's food and brings his paw up to play with it until Clarke reaches across the table and swats it away. He tilts his head, wondering why he can’t play with the food and opts to curl into a ball instead.

“I have a question.”

Lexa looks up and nods, giving her the green light.

“Why did your handmaiden look like she was having a stroke when I told her to call me Clarke rather than…” Clarke trails off at the end, avoiding the twinge that she feels every time she hears the name.

Lexa catches onto it though, “It would be as if I asked her to call me Lexa rather than _Heda_. It is much more personal, and given the power and legend you hold in my culture, it is an understandable reaction.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose at the last part, because she’s _not_ some higher being, damnit. She’s _just_ Clarke.

“What is a stroke?” 

“It’s a-” Clarke begins to explain before Lexa’s door swings open to reveal a fuming general with Rome hot on her heels. When Remus spots him, he almost falls off of Lexa’s lap in his eagerness to get to his brother until she sets him on the ground.

“I told my guards to wake me at first light. You ordered them not to?”

“You needed rest,” Lexa responds, and she says it in her Commander voice that leaves no space for arguing.

Anya huffs and walks over to Clarke’s side of the table, plopping into the adjacent chair and making herself a sandwich of meat and cheese. “Or maybe it was so you could steal my _seken_.”

Lexa glares at her in warning.

“Actually, we planned this so I wouldn’t have to train. It took us all night to figure out the logistics,” Clarke jokes, and the sound that emanates from Lexa is one she wishes she could hear on repeat. Lexa chuckled, and she seems almost bashful about it by the way her cheeks redden slightly. How long has it been since she _laughed_?

Once again, she cuts off her train of thought.

Anya glares at her, “You will pay for your weak attempts at humour later, _skaigada_.”

“I’m sure I will,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes, “Speaking of today, what’s the plan?”

“I must meet with the ambassadors this morning but will be free at midday. It would be good to show yourself to the people of the city, there have many many rumours these past days,” Lexa informs them, and Clarke knows that she’s building up to saying something else by the way she works her jaw, green eyes shining with a glimmer of hope.

“If you wish, I can give you a tour of Polis.”

Clarke chews her lower lip and considers the offer, wondering if it’s a good idea to spend this much time with Lexa. Her head wins out over her fragmented heart, reasoning that it would be good for public appearances that _Heda_ and _Wanheda_ roam the city together. They need to see that she supports the Commander to give them less of a reason to want to overthrow her, and she’s so deep in thought that she misses the way Anya rolls her eyes and the scowl Lexa returns.

_For my people._

Finally, she looks up wearing an expression of neutrality, “I’d like that, thank you.”

Lexa dips her head, and Anya rolls her eyes again before scooting her chair back and telling Clarke to sit in front of her so she can braid her hair. Lexa watches as it happens, and Clarke’s chest tightens when she sees wistfulness take over her features, like she wishes nothing more than to swap places with Clarke.

It’s the same expression that keeps appearing whenever she catches her and Anya interacting, and Clarke is once again overwhelmed with gratitude for her mentor. But with that comes another thought, and it sparks an ache in the Clarke’s throat. How must the past few months have been for Lexa? While Clarke spent her time in a bunker with a steady support system and plenty of time to rest and recover, what was Lexa doing?

It was easy to imagine her in a city full of people who worship the very ground she walks on. That no one questions her decisions… but instead? She’s been defending herself, responding to open disrespect from people she broke her own heart for.

_There are leaders that could never have done what you did. Leaders that would be killed for even thinking of running away._

Anya’s words echo in Clarke’s mind, and she looks down at the floor while her hair is still being tugged left and right, unable to look at Lexa without her heart lashing against its cage.

* * *

After sparring with Anya for a few hours, Clarke washes up and changes into her _Wanheda_ outfit, shoulder guard clipped on and head held high.

Her two guards flank her as she passes through the tower, and along with her two cubs at her side, their entourage makes for quite the dominating presence.

This is her first official appearance, and many tower staff stop to make way for her, dipping their heads in respect. It still unnerves Clarke, but she steels herself and looks straight ahead while she exits the tower. As expected, the Commander is waiting for her, decked out in her long overcoat and red sash flowing from her pauldron.

“ _Wanheda_ ,” Lexa says, nodding in acknowledgement.

Like that morning, her gaze drifts down Clarke’s figure, landing on the shoulder guard on the way back up. Green eyes spark with adoration before darting back to her own, and Clarke notices Lexa’s desire to say something about it, but they’re too in the open, so she’ll have to read the unspoken words in her eyes for now.

Clarke takes a deep breath, knowing these next few hours will be anything but easy, “ _Heda”_

“Are you ready to see Polis?”

There’s a challenge in her words, and Clarke raises a brow, “I’d hope so, I’ve been waiting two months for this”

By the slight quirking of Lexa’s lips, Clarke can tell that it’s taking every ounce of control to suppress her smile.

Lexa dips her head and clasps her hands behind her back before walking down the main road that Clarke has only been on once while she was sneaking into the tower. It was only two days ago, but it feels like much longer.

Word of _Heda_ and _Wanheda_ walking the streets ripples through the city like a wildfire, and soon, the entire population seems to line the streets to get their first look at the legendary _Wanheda_ , and the multiple guards flanking them bark orders at citizens keep at a distance.

Clarke’s heartbeat pounds as loud as a war drum, and she focuses on taking deep breaths; it probably wouldn’t do well for her perceived strength if she fainted from the recognition. Lexa’s presence lessens her nerves a little, she’s familiar in a sea of unknown voices shouting her name from every direction. Rome and Remus brush against either side of her legs every now and again, equally dazzled by the amount of attention directed their way.

Suddenly, a small weight barrels into her legs, and two of her guards immediately unsheathe their swords. But when Clarke looks down to see a small girl, no older than five, with wild brown curls that are barely tamed by one long braid, she raises her hand to wave them off.

Wide blue eyes connect with her own, “Are you really _Wanheda?_ ”

Clarke smiles at her and sinks to her knees to be at an equal height. It’s a humble position, and she ignores the gasps from the surrounding people, “Yes, and you are?”

“I am _Cora kom Trikru_ ,” She answers, puffing out her chest in pride.

“I’m glad to meet you, Cora.” Clarke loves how the girl’s eyes seem to become even bigger, “And I love your hair, it’s beautiful.”

“Really? I wish it was gold like yours,” Cora says, jutting out her lower lip in an _adorable_ pout, and Clarke’s heart tingles.

"I once wished my hair was brown, and then I got shoved into a pile of mud when I came to the ground," Clarke says, grinning at her, "Careful for what you wish for" 

_Courtesy to Anya for slapping her in the face with mud when they were escaping the mountain. It makes for a great story to tell._

Cora giggles, and then flings her little arms around Clarke's neck. It catches her off guard, and the force of it almost makes her fall, but she recovers quickly and wraps her arms around Cora’s small frame.

“ _Mochof, Wanheda_. For bringing my _nomon_ back,” She whispers into her neck, and Clarke feels tears, heavy and hot, stinging behind her eyes. For the first time, she finds herself _glad_ about how things turned out. If only so that this little girl could feel the warmth and comfort from a hug that only her mother can provide, if only so she could see that the bad guys don’t always win. If only for this girl to have _hope_.

_Good can come from the most evil of acts._

_...Did Lexa give the Sky People all the credit for returning her people?_

A shout booms from somewhere in the crowd, “ _Cora! Komba hir!”_

The girl jumps from her arms and runs to what Clarke assumes is her mother. She squeals in delight, screaming something about _Wanheda_ liking her hair until she’s carried away. The crowd, having heard the entire exchange, stands a little dumbfounded and Clarke remembers that Faye said she wasn’t what she expected. It saddens Clarke, to know that they were most likely expecting some ruthless, unforgiving character who takes pride in ‘commanding death’.

_At least I’m proving them wrong so far. That has to mean something._

When Clarke glances at Lexa, it leaves her breathless all over again, and she swallows against the dryness that takes residence in her throat. The want, the pure _need_ digging its way from deep within her emerald eyes, demanding and loving, is enough to make Clarke’s knees weak. Lexa, looking at her as if she herself created every wonder in the world. As if she personally hung the stars in the sky and then came down to the ground to create nature itself. 

It puts a key into the door of Clarke’s caged heart, but she’s simply not ready to twist it and open the lock, “So, Anya told me there’s a marketplace?”

Lexa blinks, and her mask falls into place as she turns to a path to their left, motioning for Clarke to follow. Many of the people that came to see them disperse and go back to their stands.

They emerge from the path, and Clarke finds herself in a huge square full of trading posts with a variety of items on sale. She doesn’t even know where to look because there's so much to see, but there is one thing, in particular, that stands out. These people aren’t warriors, they’re people trying to do more than just survive.

The marketplace is full of life, and it hits Clarke that _these_ are the people that Lexa is solely responsible for protecting, let alone the families in villages scattered throughout her lands. Lexa isn’t just a leader, she’s a symbol. A symbol of strength, of hope and justice, and she has to be infallible, because if she’s not, then she’s the scapegoat, the person to blame and tear into when things go wrong. The weight of that responsibility is enough to make Clarke’s stomach churn. This girl keeps giving and giving, what does she get in return?

_You could be a leader your people look to; pour their hopes and dreams into_.

A sweet aroma wafts towards them, and Clarke looks around to find the source; it’s a bakery. Her mouth waters, and Lexa must have realised because her brows quirk and she leads her to it.

“ _Heda, Wanheda_ ,” Greets a middle-aged baker with long hair and beard, dipping his head in respect.

Lexa nods back, “ _Hei,_ _Gari_.”

“Would you give me the honour of trying my latest creations?”

“I am sure _Wanheda_ would be happy to do so,” Lexa responds, amusement colouring her tone when she sees how affected Clarke is by the potent smells of cakes and pastries.

He seems to hold his breath, features shining with hope.

“I’d love to,” Clarke tells him as her cubs begin to do their usual sniffing and exploring of a new place.

He ducks his head again, “I will be right back”

Clarke turns to the brunette at her side, “You know him?”

“Yes, when I was young, he would give me his famous lemon squares when Titus wasn’t looking.”

The image of a small Lexa munching on a pastry in secret makes Clarke smile, “I didn’t think you’d have a sweet tooth”

Lexa’s brows furrow, and Clarke quickly explains, “Having a sweet tooth means you can’t refuse sugar”

“I have no such thing,” Lexa responds, but her hungry gaze towards a stack of pastries at the far end of the store gives her away, and Clarke files that information to the back of her mind for later use.

The baker returns with a plate of bite-sized squares of cakes, cookies and pies. Clarke involuntarily licks her lips, thinking she hasn’t seen or smelled anything more appetising in her life.

“A few samples, _Wanheda_.”

Clarke glances at the Commander, who looks like she’s enjoying herself a tad too much, and she pops a piece of cake into her mouth.

Clarke barely stifles a moan, and it comes out as a throaty whimper instead. The base is made of some sort of cookie, and the rest has hints of raspberry, a fruit she learned about this morning, and vanilla, and _wow,_ it’s probably the best thing she’s ever tasted.

Her expression is twisted into one of pure bliss as she swoons over the cake, “Oh god, this is so good.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” The baker responds with a large grin.

For the next few minutes, Clarke tries all kinds of pastries, and she already knows that she’ll be coming back here soon.

“ _Mochof, Gari_ ,” She says once her stomach is filled to the brim, and she fears she might explode.

He bows his head, “You are welcome here anytime, _Wanheda_.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that,” Clarke promises with a smile.

For the next few hours, they tour many of the stands, to the delight of the people of Polis. They visit candle shops and weaponries, and many trading posts full of pre-apocalypse objects that they recovered. She can’t help thinking of Raven, knowing that the girl would revel in the bits and bobs of tech that were on sale. A dull ache settles in her chest when she wonders how she has been holding up the past couple of months.

Each of the trader’s gift Clarke with all kinds of objects, and she gave up on politely trying to decline them. It was useless. Her guards seem content to act as her shopping bags though, telling her that they’ll make sure the gifts will be brought to her room. After spending time at the marketplace, Lexa showed her their medical clinic and training grounds, explaining a bit of the history around both.

A couple hours before sunset, Lexa announces that she has to help train the _Natblida_ for their afternoon session, and Clarke makes her promise that she’ll introduce her to all of them the following day. She _loves_ kids, and the thought of a bunch of mini-Commanders trailing after Lexa makes her heart swell.

To pass time, Clarke plops onto her couch and draws everything she can remember from today. She sketches Cora and her awe-stricken eyes, Gari’s joy whenever she would give him a compliment, Lexa’s admiration in the candle shop and her small smiles that are only reserved for Clarke, along with a bunch of random things she saw by chance.

Eventually, a knock on the door pulls Clarke out of her current drawing of her cubs.

“Come in.”

Anya steps into the room, “Your mother and Kane have arrived. They are waiting for you in a meeting room on the highest level.”

_Fuck._

Clarke knew they were coming, but the fact that they are right _here_ , a mere level above her? Her chest tightens and suddenly she feels dizzy. Her mom’s screams from the mountain fill her senses as raging butterflies course through her body, and Clarke barely registers it when Anya kneels before her and takes her hands in a firm grip.

“ _Skaigada_. Look at me.”

Somehow, she focuses in on Anya’s sharp features.

“I left them, Anya. I was so selfish.. I-I don’t think I can handle it if they look at me like they do in my dreams,” She confesses.

“They will understand, _skaigada_. They love you, and merely wish to see you safe, and happy. Can you say that you would have felt those things back in your camp?”

“No, I..” She trails off, shaking her head. “No.”

“ _Os._ I can come inside with you and stand guard at the door, if it makes it easier.”

“No, it’s okay. I need to do this on my own. Thank you, Anya.”

Anya nods and releases her grip on Clarke’s hands.

“Bring your sketchbook.”

“Good idea,” Clarke responds, realising that she has a way of showing her mom what her last few months have looked like. Words could never do it justice.

Anya leads her through the tower, and eventually, they come to stand before a wooden door on the top floor. Clarke has a vice grip on her sketchbook, still finding it hard to breathe.

She stares at the door as if it’s Pandora’s box and opening it will change everything… which it will. Clarke glances at Anya, who sends her a nod and a glare that has ‘don’t be so dramatic, I’ll be right outside’ written all over it, and Clarke gives her a small smile.

_Breathe in._

She pushes down the handle and opens the door, stepping inside of the room. When she looks up, she spots Kane and her mother standing by a large window, and a few seconds later, the air is knocked out of her as she’s enveloped in a tight hug. A weight is lifted from Clarke’s shoulders as she is surrounded in the comforting scent of her mother, and in that moment, nothing else matters.

_Breathe out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have a thing for ending chapters once Clarke opens a door and is reunited with someone, but this time it's a little less dramatic. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think!


	12. Give Peace a Chance

Clarke sinks into the embrace, and in that moment, she realises how much she truly misses her mother. She remembers the time she took the jobi nuts and was under its hallucinogenic effects, and she saw her father. He asked her to forgive her mom, and she told him she could never do that because of her betrayal.

And maybe she will always, _always_ hold resentment for what her mom did, but that doesn’t change the fact that she _can_ understand her. It would be hypocritical of Clarke to say that she can’t, because she’s committed the most heinous crimes - all justified by her love for her people and their safety. Her mom was doing what she believed was right for her people, and as sick as Clarke is becoming from hearing that same reason for doing terrible things, it _is_ valid. She has worked through so many things in her time at the bunker, and this is one of them.

Forgiveness may be a gift to yourself, to let go of the trappings of residual anger and bitterness that still weigh on you, that still take away from times where you could be happy. But just like with herself and Lexa, does her mom deserve it? They may have had a rocky time in their relationship since coming to the ground, but she can’t deny that her mom has been a great comfort and leader to her people. She gave Clarke advice after the sacrifice at TonDC, to remember that they’re the good guys. And after the mountain, she told Clarke that there may be no good guys… It’s something she’s taken to heart since then.

Perhaps there are no good guys, but in a post-apocalyptic world where that is the reality, _trying_ to be a good guy means everything. And her mother is… She’s trying. That’s all that matters to Clarke, because she's in the same boat.

After a minute, Abby pulls back and cradles Clarke’s cheeks in her hands, eyes darting over her form to look for any visible injuries.

“I’m okay,” Clarke whispers while a few tears escape. Her mom’s brows are knitted together, as if she can’t process that Clarke is actually standing before her. It breaks her heart, to see the pain of their time apart in the form of deep bags under her eyes, skin paler and more wrinkled than before.

_Another person I’ve hurt._

“It’s good to see you, Clarke,” Kane says, coming to stand beside Abby after she drops her hands from Clarke’s cheeks.

She manages a small smile, “You too. How was the trip?”

“It was good, I’m very impressed with what we’ve seen of Polis so far,” He says, eyes glimmering with excitement and hope that maybe their people will be this carefree one day.

Clarke can’t help but share in his joy, “I’ll arrange for someone to give you a full tour, if you want. It’s amazing, especially the bakery.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it.”

The three pause in a heavy silence, and they know that small talk won’t get them any further.

Abby is the one to break it, “Well, I don’t know about you, Marcus, but I would love to hear about what you’ve been up to in your absence, Clarke.”

“Have you been here this entire time? With Lexa?” She asks, an underlying accusation in her tone.

_If only she knew that the Mountain didn’t just cost me my soul; it cost me my heart._

Clarke shakes her head, “No, I was with Anya. She found me after I left and took me to her brother’s old bunker. She taught me how to survive on the ground and how to fight, but she also showed me how to cope with everything that happened.”

Her mother’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms. It irritates Clarke, because what does she know?

“Don’t look at me like that. Anya saved me, from _myself_. I was broken, mom. I couldn’t stay with our people, because every time I looked at one of them, I only saw what I had to do to get them here.”

“Running away isn’t a way to deal with your actions, Clarke!”

Clarke takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice even, “I _know_ it was selfish. And I know you wish you could have been there for me, but that’s not what I needed. What I needed was someone to push me, to challenge me and give me a purpose other than deciding who is disposable.”

Her mom’s eyes flash, “We could have done that!”

“No, you couldn’t!” The words come out much louder than Clarke intended, but now that her frustration is set free, she continues her train of thought, “Do you honestly think that if I stayed, I wouldn’t have been looked to for answers? I would have been expected to take care of _everyone_ else’s pain, and I would have ignored mine until it killed me!”

She pauses to take a deep breath, and the room practically vibrates with the intensity of her words. After a couple of seconds, she wordlessly hands her mother the sketchbook and flips to where she started filling the pages.

“You wanted to hear about the past couple of months, but now I’m showing you,” Clarke says, and she sinks into one of the chairs by the oval-shaped table in the middle of the room to give them space to absorb her work.

They would see everything; the hill as she first saw it, countless sunsets from sitting against the tree, Anya’s smirk from above when she’d throw Clarke to the ground for the ninth time in a minute… The creek where she found Rome and Remus, and many drawings of them with herself and Anya. She’d draw abstract things too, and they started off quite dark and gruesome at first, but slowly became warmer and more colourful as time wore on.

Every now and again, she hears a gasp, and eventually some audible swooning, so she assumes they’ve reached the part where she found her cubs.

“Clarke, where are they?” Kane asks, expression soft.

“They’re sleeping in my room, I’ll introduce you later,”

Her mother looks up, and she at least has the decency to look apologetic, “What are their names?”

“Rome and Remus.”

“That’s from the story in ancient Rome, right?”

Clarke nods, and they flick through the remaining pages up to her tour of Polis today. They close the book and hand it back to her before taking seats at the table too.

Abby takes Clarke’s hand and rubs circles into it with her thumb, “I’m sorry for shouting at you, sweetheart. I was just so worried, I feared the worst.”

“It’s fine, and I should apologise too. You know, for leaving and stuff,” Clarke responds, mumbling by the end.

Her mom gives her a small smile of acceptance, and Clarke knows that they’ll be okay. They just needed to vent it out, and now that they have, Abby moves onto other matters, “So, I don’t think you summoned us here for a social call. What’s going on? Are you in danger?”

Clarke shakes her head, “I’m not in danger, but Lexa is. The Ice Nation and some other clans want to overthrow her, and that’ll mean war.”

Her mom’s eyes narrow, “That’s Lexa’s concern, not ours.”

“No, Abby. If Lexa falls, then the coalition shatters, and there’s no way we avoid that war. Her alliance to us is the only thing keeping the other clans from attacking us."

Clarke blinks, taken aback by one part of his words, “Hold on, your alliance to Lexa?”

Kane nods with a proud smile, “She reached out to us after the fall of Mount Weather. She asked if we knew where you were and said that we could stay on her lands. We set up a border, and we’ve worked well with Indra and her people in the _Trikru_.” 

“Oh. I-I didn’t know that,” Clarke says, scratching the back of her neck. It’s only logical, because how else would they have survived? But the fact that Lexa made sure her people were safe when they had no reason to trust each other… It means more than she could say. Lexa could have demanded that the Sky People leave, they based their alliance on their mutual desire for their people back. And after all, Clarke’s people _are_ invaders. Of course, Lexa owes the Sky People for taking down the mountain, but the grounders believe Clarke was the one who slayed the mountain… And she disappeared. She wasn’t there to protect her people anymore.

“There’s a lot of catching up you need to do. Preferably back in Arkadia,” Abby interjects, pulling Clarke out of her thoughts.

Clarke raises her brows, “You renamed it to Arkadia? Monty came up with that, didn’t he?”

“Did you even have to ask?” She answers with a smile before it vanishes, “What do we have to do to avoid that war?”

Clarke steels herself, “We become the thirteenth clan.”

Another charged silence fills the room, and Clarke watches them furrow their brows and exchange a few wary looks.

“Thirteenth clan. What does that mean? That we follow Lexa?” Abby asks, and it comes out as more of a hiss.

“Yes. It means that our people will become Lexa’s people. This is our unity day, mom. You can be the thirteenth station, or you can be the thirteenth clan.”

Abby narrows her eyes, “Marcus?”

“She’s right, Abby. I’ve seen how large the Ice Nation army is. We don’t stand a chance against them. We need to do this.”

Her mother nods, “So we become the thirteenth clan. What’s going to stop the Ice Nation?”

“ _Wanheda_.”

“I’ve heard the grounders calling you that. What does it mean?”

“Commander of Death,” Clarke ignores their sympathetic looks. “In grounder culture, you absorb the power of those you kill. And, well, since they think I single-handedly destroyed the mountain… you can imagine how they see me now. But according to grounder religion, _Wanheda_ is also one of their Gods. The spirit incarnates to destroy evil, to make space for growth.”

It surprises Clarke, how monotone she sounds when she relays this to them. She’s heard enough about it from Anya, and after all, it’s what she was preparing her for. She can cry about it later, preferably in a hot bath.

Clarke watches with amusement as her mother sighs and rubs her hand over her eyes while Kane stares at her, dumbfounded.

She can’t help but snicker, “Yeah, I know. I’m kind of a big deal right now.”

“Clarke, this is not funny,” Abby scolds, and Clarke feels like a child again for a split second.

“I know, but you should really see your faces right now. And mom, this is good. No one will attack our people, not when they think so highly of me. Joining the coalition isn’t a bad thing either. In my time away, I learned so many things from Anya. I’m actually her second now.”

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

“It just means that she’s officially my mentor, and I’m her apprentice. It’s the same thing with Octavia and Indra. Think about it, we can provide them with better medical techniques and ways to improve their farming and infrastructure, and they can teach us how to live on the ground. It’s getting cold. We won’t survive through the winter if we don’t get help.”

Kane smiles, no doubt already coming up with exchange programmes and all the things they have to offer, “This is brilliant, Clarke. It’s a great opportunity.”

“They’re going to accept us into their Coalition, just like that?” Abby asks, raising a brow.

“About that… In a week and a half, it’s being put to a vote. But don’t worry, I’ll secure it for us.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I will. There’s no other option,” Clarke says firmly, and they all know it’s true. It’s convince the clans to work with them, or it’ll mean that Lexa has a high chance of meeting her end. She needs all the support she can get, because Lexa’s spirit is staying where it is.

Her mom’s brows pull together in uncertainty, “Are you sure you’re up for this? It’s quite the responsibility.”

“I’m sure. I’ve worked so hard on myself, and I’m ready to be better. We’re _so_ close to achieving peace,” Clarke responds, and she believes her words with everything she has. The Coalition represents everything she envisions for the future, it promotes unity in diversity, and peace over war.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Abby says, and Clarke takes those words and imprints them on her heart. It’s a significant moment for them, and it’s as if all the love that her mom feels swims through the space between them and right into Clarke’s soaring heart. She reaches out and squeezes her mom’s hand.

Kane brings them out of their moment, “What happens when the vote goes in our favour?”

“There’ll be a ceremony where I bow to the Commander and take the brand. I think it’s best if you two go back to our people and start warming them up to the idea of joining the Coalition,” She pauses when they both open their mouths to protest.

“Look, it’s important that our people are on board with this. We can’t exactly do exchange programs if no one wants to learn or sees the positives in it. I’d say put it to a vote so that no one can argue or back out after, because once we’re in, we’re in for good.”

“I don’t know if our people will vote for this, Clarke.”

“You have to convince them, mom. Just like I’m convincing the clan ambassadors. Emphasise the benefits that we’ll get, exaggerate it if you have to. We can’t mess this up, and we can’t just make such a big decision for them. I’d be so pissed if I didn't have any input on it.”

For the next while, her mom and Kane update her on the climate in Arkadia, like what her people think of the grounders and how they have fared since Mount Weather. Her heart sinks when they tell her how Jasper is doing, and she knows it’s probably best that she doesn’t show her face in Arkadia yet. She’s glad when she finds out that Bellamy has a girlfriend and is doing well as a guard, Kane seems to have developed a close bond with him. On the other hand, a bundle of guilt prickles at the back of her neck when she hears about Raven’s deteriorating condition and refusal to accept help.

By the time the sun has set, the three of them are exhausted. Kane and Abby from their journey, and Clarke from the emotional drain of seeing her people again.

Clarke stretches her arms over her head, “We should probably wrap this up for tonight, I don’t know about you guys but I’m starving. Anya is standing guard outside, I’ll ask her to show you to your rooms.”

“That sounds great, thank you,” Kane says, ever the diplomat.

Abby smiles at Clarke, as if she still can’t believe that she’s real, and hugs her once more before they open the door.

“Chancellor, Kane,” Anya nods at them, “Clarke”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. Her mentor only calls her by her actual name when Clarke does something to invoke her wrath or when she’s an emotional mess, and it’s the only way to reach her. She’ll have to get used to it if they find themselves in formal settings more often.

Kane holds out his right arm, “Anya, it’s good to see you again”

He won the respect of both Indra and Anya during their first alliance, so the general clasps her hand around his forearm and dips her head.

Abby hasn’t taken her eyes off of Anya the second she stepped out of the room. For one terrifying moment, Clarke thinks her mom is going to yell at her like she did to her at first, but she holds her arm out as Kane did.

Anya grasps it, and much to her chagrin and Clarke’s amusement, her mom pulls her in for a half-hug. She goes rigid but returns the embrace, sending Clarke a side-eyed glare.

“Thank you for taking care of my daughter,” Abby whispers into her ear, but it’s loud enough for them all to hear in the otherwise silent corridor. She says it as if she’s hanging from a cliff, and the slightest push will send her plummeting, and Clarke’s heart stutters in her chest. If her mother is this affected by her disappearance… did it hurt her friends just as much? How angry will they be? Those worries settle as an uncomfortable bundle of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, but she pushes that aside along with the guilt. She can’t deal with that now.

Anya closes her eyes when Abby says those words, and Clarke wonders how long it’s been since she felt a mother’s hug, but she shakes her head, “It is not necessary to thank me. I have learned much from her.”

“You have?” Clarke asks, brows raising as her mother steps back. She always thought that she was frustrating Anya to no end with her inherent ability to make everything dramatic, but _teaching_ her something?

“Do not make me say it again, _skaigada_ ,” Anya retorts, shooting her a dark look.

Clarke laughs, because is it really _that_ difficult for her to admit that she’s anything but a nuisance? “Oh, I’m definitely making you say it again, in as much detail as possible.”

Anya’s smirk returns, “We will see about that in your training tomorrow”

“Do you always have to pull the training card when you threaten me? It’s getting kinda old.”

Abby and Kane watch them go back and forth, eyes jumping from one to the other like they’re watching a tennis match. They share a glance with each other, smiling at the fact that Clarke seems to be doing so well. Abby can’t remember the last time she heard her daughter laugh, and anyone who can coax such a rare sound from her is one she wishes will stay in her life.

After they come to an impasse with their bickering, Clarke recalls the reason they left the room in the first place. “Could you show my mom and Kane where they’ll be staying tonight?”

“ _Sha.”_ She turns to them, “Follow me, you are staying on the guest level. Dinner will be brought to you shortly.”

Clarke goes with them and bids her mother goodnight before leaving with Anya to go back up to their floor. Her stomach growls, and it echoes through the tower, prompting her mentor to snort, “I hope our _natstepa_ have not destroyed your room in our absence.”

“Oh god,” Clarke groans, knowing that their cubs can cause quite the chaos when they want. She once returned to their sleeping area in the bunker to find their clothes hazardously thrown around the room, and to this day, neither of them have an explanation to how they managed to open _both_ of their wardrobes. “Is Lexa in her room, or is she still with the nightbloods?”

“I assume she is still with them. Titus will most likely keep her for a while, he is unhappy that our people see you as _Heda’s_ equal.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Well, I’m _so_ looking forward to meeting him properly.”

They arrive at their level, and much to their combined relief, Rome and Remus are where they left them; snuggled into each other and fast asleep. They perk up when they notice their presence and excited squeaks bounce off the walls. Anya walks over and places them both on the floor after running her hand through each of their furs, and they bound over to Clarke, circling her feet.

“They have way too much energy. I’ll take them down to the market-place, I have an errand to run, but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back for dinner,” Clarke says, as nonchalantly as possible. She doesn’t want to go into details on what she is about to do, because she isn’t sure why she’s doing it herself.

It could be a terrible idea, but she _has_ to do something to show Lexa that she still sees her. After noticing how bashful Lexa was about something as trivial as laughing, along with the longing that shines in her eyes when she sees Anya and herself interact, a weight settled on Clarke’s chest. And after all the wondering she’s done today about how Lexa has been holding up, as well as getting a glimpse of the people she alone is responsible for… That weight only got heavier. Plus, the alliance she kept up with the _Skaikru_ in her absence is a big deal to Clarke. She has to show her appreciation somehow.

Anya raises a brow, but doesn’t comment on it and settles on a nod. Clarke clicks her tongue and walks out of her room, two guards in tow.

* * *

When Lexa returns to her room late that night, drained and frustrated after yet another heated argument with Titus, she notices something on the table in front of her couch. On instinct, her entire body tenses.. What if it’s a bomb… or a poison? And how in _keryon_ ’s name did it get past her guards? She will be having a strong word with the general assigned to her personal guard.

But upon closer inspection, she notices a note placed on top of a small container. Curiosity gets the best of her, and she picks it up to see what it says.

_Thank you for the tour today, Polis is amazing. Here’s something for your sweet tooth._

_\- Clarke_

When she opens the lid of the container and sees a stack of lemon squares, Lexa’s breath hitches in her throat. It’s a simple act of kindness, but the fact that this girl who fell from the sky and landed.. no, _crashed_ right through the carefully constructed walls around Lexa’s heart _still_ has an ounce of kindness in her to give, especially to someone who has caused her such pain, makes Lexa’s heart surge with affection. The force of it leaves her knees weak, and she drops onto the couch with a heavy exhale.

The ground, Lexa’s very lands, have shown Clarke nothing but war and brutality since she arrived. Time after time, it’s shown her that loving will more than likely end up in pain. Even so, Clarke refuses to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve; refuses to close it off like Lexa herself had done.

And maybe if shredding her own emotions didn’t rid her of the pain of Costia’s loss, she would have kept going. Maybe she would have continued beating her own heart until she even forgot that her name is Lexa rather than _Heda._ Because come what may, she vowed to herself to never lose control again, because any sign of weakness - even a tremble of her fingers… it would be enough to send her back into despair. She was _Heda_ until Clarke pulled Lexa back to the surface.

And in that moment, Lexa thinks Clarke is the strongest and most courageous person she has ever had the honour of knowing. She’s not naïve to think that this means anything, it does not mean forgiveness or requited feelings… No, but it does mean that Clarke _still_ sees right through her. 

She noticed the softness in her features when they arrived at the marketplace, and Lexa had the sense that, if only for a second, Clarke felt a fraction of the weight she has on her shoulders. And after watching her interact with Cora, one of her very people, she couldn’t help but lose herself in Clarke’s sapphire eyes. That shade is just _so_ blue, like the very sky she fell from.

To Lexa, the sky represents an open space full of possibilities; it represents liberation and expansiveness. As a child, she often stared into space when she felt overwhelmed in the cage she was thrust into because of the colour of her blood. She wondered if there might be other worlds, other _beings_ out there. It made her feel less significant, if only for a short time. It gave her what she secretly craves but knows she can never have – freedom. Who knew the sky would drop the very person who _can_ do just that. Make her feel _free_.

Lexa closes her eyes when she remembers how soft Clarke’s lips moved against her own. And when she realised that Clarke was kissing her back… well, her entire being felt as though it was drifting, floating away in the sea with no land in sight. It was simultaneously terrifying and liberating. Her heart clawed itself into pieces when Clarke pulled away, but it somehow stitched itself back together just as quickly when she heard the words ‘Not yet’. For the first time in a long time, she _allowed_ herself to hope.

Lexa shakes her head and swallows harshly, clearing her mind of those forbidden images and sensations. Spending time with Clarke over the past few days has already been more than she ever thought she’d get. She has no right to think of these memories, and she has even less of a right to think of a future where 'not yet’ turns to ‘now’. She reminds herself that she doesn’t deserve - will _never_ deserve - another chance with Clarke.

Her duty to her people will always come first, that will not change… But now that Clarke will become one of her people? She’ll never have to betray Clarke or the _Skaikru_ again, they’ll be her responsibility - her people to protect. And most importantly, she will be able to protect _Clarke_.

After relishing in a couple of the lemon squares (she had her guards try them first, one can never be too careful), she gets herself ready for bed. Sleep doesn’t come easily though, her mind racing with thoughts of how to show Clarke just how much she appreciates everything she’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm especially interested to hear your thoughts on this one, I went back and forth on a good few parts in this chapter, so I really hope you enjoyed the finished piece. Hope you're all doing well xo


	13. Mirror to Your Past

The following day, Clarke has breakfast with her mom as promised. It’s a little awkward at first, but they find common ground in talking about how amazing the food is in Polis compared to the Ark, and Clarke comes up with a plan to send a wagon full of it to Arkadia to help ensure the vote goes in their favour. She brought her cubs with her, and it was quite heart-warming to watch them bond.

Before Abby can broach the topic and ask Clarke about her mental state, she excuses herself to go for her training session. Anya said she would let her spar the other second’s that are being trained in Polis, and that if she embarrassed her, she’d ‘scratch her eyes out’. Being late probably falls under that category, and Clarke is _not_ about to risk Anya’s wrath if she can avoid it.

So, Clarke changes into suitable clothes and leaves the tower to meet her mentor at the training grounds with her cubs in tow. The sword of _Wanheda_ is sheathed at her hip, and her bow and arrows at her back.

As always, most people stop what they are doing to nod at her in respect, and it’s starting to become less unnerving. She takes the time to nod back or give a small smile to each of them and almost finds it amusing how it makes them either pale a few shades or dip their heads even lower.

“ _Wanheda_ and her _natstepa_ have honoured me with their presence,” Anya drawls once Clarke is in earshot. Rome dashes to her and she catches him as he does his customary jump to sink his claws at the top of her boots.

She sets him back down after a few seconds of ruffling her free hand through his fur while he nuzzled his nose against her thoat, “Five laps around the field”

Clarke’s mouth falls open, “ _Five?”_

Her mentor raises a brow, and Clarke huffs as she hands Anya her sword and unstraps her bow, placing it beside a tree. Overall, the training ground is just an extensive field, and many warriors are already practicing amongst themselves, while others do different strengthening exercises. Clarke starts jogging and looks around, seeing a bulky man do pushups, while a couple of young girls fight with wooden staffs a bit further away.

It’s an uplifting atmosphere, with everyone doing their own thing unless sparring with each other. There’s even a corner where you can line up to fight, and the winner of each is against the next in line. Clarke absentmindedly wonders if Lexa ever comes here to train; she has to have some sort of daily training regime to keep her muscles strong... Not that she has spent _any_ time thinking of what she looks like without clothes. Not at all.

After three and a half laps, Clarke is red-faced, parched and panting. This is a really fucking big field… and five laps?! Anya wasn’t joking when she said she’d pay for her teasing yesterday. Every time she passes Anya looking more exhausted, her smirk falls into place, and Clarke regrets that she’s not sparring with her today, because she would knock that stupid smirk away.

She steels herself though, not wanting to admit weakness or defeat. It’s just like the whole carrying-a-fallen-house-up-a-hill fiasco, except this time, she also knows that other people are watching her. She assumes that they’re gauging her strength, sizing her up to see if the great _Wanheda_ is as powerful as her legend goes.

Once she’s done, she half expects Anya to command her into another five laps, because that’s _exactly_ the type of torture she would subject her to.

“Good, _skaigada_. You will fight _Arden kom Delfikru_ first,” She says instead, motioning to an approaching man with a perfectly trimmed beard, and Clarke assumes he’s in his mid-twenties.

There’s no way she can let her nerves show, concealing what she is thinking and feeling during a fight is something that Anya drilled into her from the very beginning.

“ _Wanheda_ ,” He grunts in greeting.

She nods in response, and they separate a few steps. He draws his sword first, baring his teeth. Anya is still holding her sword, and she wraps her hand around the hilt and pulls it out of its sheath. Anya gives her a nod of encouragement, but Clarke doesn’t acknowledge it, too focused on finding any weaknesses in her opponent.

He’s taller, but also much more muscular, which means she could try tiring him out, or use his weight against him if she’s fast enough.

In the next second, her observations are cut short as he charges at her with a loud war cry.

_Fiesty._

Their swords clash, and Clarke doesn’t mind going on the defensive for a while to gauge his flaws. She’s surprised by how much power he strikes with, she’s more used to Anya’s swift hits intended to distract until she finds an opening to unleash her full power.

She continues for a while, parrying all of his attacks, and Clarke knows by his strained and fast breaths that he’s losing his fire. That, and he’s getting frustrated because she keeps dodging and circling back without attacking. It doesn’t exert her as much, and she’s glad to find that his hits are becoming less powerful.

On his next attack, he lands a kick to her stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her flying back. Now _that’s_ gonna leave a nasty bruise, she thinks before he’s towering over her. She rolls to the side when he attempts to land a punch to her face, and elbows the back of his knee.

He drops onto the grass, and she scrambles up to recover her sword that she lost during her fall.

Adrenaline spurs her on, and she feels the familiar tingling in her left hand that arises whenever she’s about to launch her own attack. The sword became an extension of her own body the second she first held it in her hands, and it’s unexplainable, but it’s somehow connected to her. Sometimes, Clarke thinks it has a mind of its own, because her best attacks come from when she doesn’t think. She just… moves with it.

He recovered in the time it took to retrieve her sword, but now Clarke unleashes her favourite combo.

She lunges forward, and he defends her strikes until she attacks his left side before spinning around and bringing her sword to his waist, flipping it on its flat side just before it makes contact.

He stands wide-eyed, and she doesn’t remove her sword from where it’s planted at his side. They wear a thick layer of under armour, so it wouldn’t be _too_ catastrophic if one forgot or had no time to flip their sword in time. That’s when she realises that a considerable crowd had gathered, all watching the fight intently and cheering at her victory. She glances to Anya, who is standing a little taller than usual.

Clarke joins her, and Remus lets out a small whine while nipping at her foot, unhappy that she’s putting herself in situations where she could get hurt. Anya must have held their cubs back, because Clarke knows they wouldn’t hesitate to jump to her defense, despite their height and inexperience.

“You fought well, _skaigada_. It was good to tire him, but you waited too long to attack when you realised his strikes were less powerful. It would have surprised him.”

Clarke nods, “You’re right, I don’t know why I waited so long.”

“You are learning, it is good to make these mistakes now rather than in an actual battle.”

“True,” Clarke says, and her eyes glitter with exhilaration when she continues, “And Anya, that was amazing. I didn’t think I’d love kicking someone’s ass this much, but _wow_.”

Anya lets a proud smile grace her features, “I am glad to hear it. Next is _Val kom Ouskejonkru._ ”

Clarke wins that fight too, but she loses the next to a man from _Azgeda_. She’s glad that most of the crowd dispersed by then, because she fought on emotions she didn’t even know she was harbouring. There’s just something about that _Azgeda_ warrior that got under her skin, and the fact that both Anya and Lexa have suffered so much at the hands of this clan made her even more frustrated with every hit he landed on her.

To her surprise, Anya didn’t chastise her to the extent she expected. She seemed to know what had her so riled up and noted that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing that the Ice Nation would underestimate her now. They can use it to her advantage if it ever comes to that. She wins the rest of the fights, and that makes up for it, although the loss still stings at her pride.

Clarke doesn’t miss the way the six warriors she fought were all from different clans, specifically those that Lexa mentioned she’d have to use her powers of persuasion on. Anya sought out those opponents, it was a strategic move in the hope that she’d gain their respect once she shows her strength in combat. It must have worked, bar that _Azgeda_ idiot, but Clarke was never expecting that vote anyway.

While Clarke is doing her cool-down stretches, one of her guards approaches her.

“ _Wanheda_ ,” He says, dipping his head, “ _Heda_ wishes you to know that the Chancellor and Kane are receiving a tour of Polis, and that you may join her in her throne room in a candlemark to meet the _Natblida_.”

Clarke frowns when he still avoids eye-contact. Granted, she hasn’t had the time yet to introduce herself to her guards, but now she’s intent on changing that.

“Thank you, you can tell her I’ll be there… What’s your name?”

He stares at a spot behind her shoulder when he answers, “ _Fort kom Trikru”_

“I’m glad to be working with you, Fort,” She tells him, trying her absolute best to put him at ease. It doesn’t work, and he ends up looking even more uncomfortable. If he wasn’t a highly trained warrior, Clarke thinks he’d be squirming.

He nods his head, “I must back to report to _Heda_.”

He’s gone before she can blink, leaving her wondering if she’s said something wrong, or if there’s some other strange cultural difference she is unaware of. Or maybe he’s like Faye, and she just needs to find a way to make him see that she’s human, just as he is.

Clarke shakes her head, ridding herself of her thoughts as she treks back to the tower with her cubs to wash-up and rest before meeting the nightbloods.

* * *

Clarke arrives at the throne room an hour later, hearing voices coming from the inside. She recognises Lexa’s straight away; would recognise it anywhere. She nods at the guards, who are the same ones that were standing guard at the meeting she barged into, and opens the door.

Clarke is met with the sight of Lexa sitting on her throne with one leg crossed over the other. She’s wearing a flowing black shirt with a generous V-neck, and her standard dark grey pants. It’s more casual than she has ever seen her by her throne, and it makes Clarke’s heart beat a little faster.

Scattered on the floor and steps in front of the throne are a bunch of kids decked in armour, their swords laying beside them. They all stare at her with wide-eyes before a few of them school their features in a way that is so similar to Lexa that it makes her shudder. If Clarke had to guess, she’d say they range from ages four to thirteen, and the knowledge that some of them have already learned to push down their reactions has her heart twinging in her chest. They’re just kids…

“ _Wanheda_ , thank you for coming,” Lexa says with a nod, and Clarke walks closer, not knowing where to position herself. Remus darts through the circle of children and squeaks at Lexa until she smiles and picks him up, placing him on her lap. He sits down on her thighs and faces Clarke, sending her an excited peep. He must be of the idea that sitting in the throne means _he’s_ the new Commander.

“It’s my pleasure,” She responds before smiling down at the group of kids. “I made _Heda_ promise to make time for me to meet you.”

Seven pairs of eyes dart to Lexa, and she gives them a small nod of confirmation. It’s like the nightbloods can’t believe that someone would _want_ to come and see them for any reason other than future-Commander related topics.

“Is it twue that yous lives in the _skai_?” One of the younger boys asks. He has a mop of jet-black hair and brown eyes, and she watches as his cheeks tint pink. He's _adorable_ , and clearly doesn't have his 'R' sound down yet. Most kids master it by age six or seven, and she estimates he's five at the oldest.

Clarke sits down in a space between them on the ground, crossing her legs. She wants to be level with them, just like with Cora. Rome stretches out in front of her, and she ruffles the fur on his stomach. The two kids she sits between shift to accommodate her and twist to face her. She feels Lexa’s gaze on her, but she resists making eye contact in case her expression is anything like it was the last time she interacted with a kid. She'd prefer to keep her head clear, for now at least.

“Yes, it’s true. My home was called the Ark, and it was like… a big boat. Before we came down, you could see it moving in the sky.”

A few muffled ‘wows’ drift through the chamber, until she asks him, “What’s your name?”

“Nik,” He responds, raising his chin a little.

She smiles at him before turning to the others. “And the rest of you?”

The sandy-haired boy from beside her answers first, “I’m Aden, the oldest.”

“Only by four months,” A dark-haired girl huffs, which makes it clear that he has teased her about being younger than him. “I am Tori, the second oldest.”

It’s not lost on Clarke that they introduce themselves without stating their clans, they’ve clearly been taught to let go of any previous loyalties they had to their families in favour of the people of the Coalition.

They continue introducing themselves in order of age; Tomas is next, followed by Elli and Zoar, who look the same age, and then a small girl, Deca, who can’t be much older than Nik.

“Well, you can call me Clarke. What were you guys doing before I came here? I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” She says, glancing at Lexa.

Lexa answers her question, “We were discussing the life of my predecessor, he made many… debatable decisions. We began our lesson earlier to accommodate you, I am sure the _Natblida_ will have more questions for you. They were quite excited for your presence,” She pauses, eyeing each of them, “I believe none of them will recall much of what I discussed before you arrived.”

Clarke chuckles at how every one of the nightbloods looks down sheepishly. Lexa said the words seriously, but they’re tinged with a deep fondness. Back on the Ark, Clarke always feared her mom or dad embarrassing her before her friends, but here Lexa just made _seven_ kids blush at once. That must be a setting some sort of high score.

Deca recovers first, and Clarke can tell that the small girl is a force to be reckoned with. “Do the _Skaikru_ control when it rains and snows?”

“Um… no, unfortunately not. It’s a good question though, and I wish we could do that. I’ve never seen snow before.”

A few of them perk up, looking like they want to ask more about it, but Nik speaks up again the second she finishes her sentence, “Can I pet yous _natstepa_?”

Clarke nods, and waves her hand for him to come over. Rome is still lying in a ball before Clarke’s feet, and the small boy hesitantly steps around the circle and stands next to her.

“Okay, slowly hold out your hand so he can get used to your smell.”

He does as she says, and Clarke sees callouses marring his tiny hand. Her heart sinks, and for some reason she can feel a familiar burning behind her eyes. This boy is what? Four? And he’s living in a world where he was ripped from his parents because of the colour of his blood... Only to go to a huge city where he’s taught to suppress his emotions and that love is weakness.

_Lexa was brought to Polis in her fourth summer._

Rome perks up and sniffs his hand before rubbing the side of his head against it. A wide smile stretches across Nik’s features and he beams at Clarke.

Right then, she swears to herself that she’ll do whatever she can to change how the Conclave is held. She knows it’s the way of the grounders, but Anya once told her that she doesn’t agree with it, so there must be others. She’ll be damned if she lets this group of _kids_ , who are being _raised_ together, end up killing each other. Lexa may be the Commander of the lands, but Clarke is the most stubborn person on this goddamn planet. She’ll have a long time to figure out how, though, because Lexa’s spirit is staying where it is so long as Clarke is alive.

“He likes you,” She says, returning his blinding smile. He seems hesitant to return to his place, and Clarke takes quite the risk by patting the area between her crossed legs. Nik looks uncertain for a second, but flings himself into the space, helped by Clarke. He must have been found and brought to Polis recently, he’s the youngest but also acts the most free.

When she looks up, the other kids are looking at her with something akin to awe, but the worst part about it is the pure longing in their gazes, along with a hint of jealousy. The burning behind her eyes becomes even more intense when she thinks about how long it must have been since they have received any kind of physical comfort.

On the Ark, she slept in between her parents to the age of ten. It made her feel so safe, so comforted yet protected, and it’s one of those memories that evokes a deep warmth in her heart. The love between her parents infused itself into her very being, and she will carry that with her for the rest of her days. No one could take that away from her. And even when she started sleeping in her own bed, she’d still get plenty of hugs and cuddles to suit her every mood.

But these kids?

“Can you tell us of how it was when you first came to the ground?” Aden asks, and Clarke happily obliges.

She tells them of her first time seeing horses during her meeting with Anya, which sparks a whole other conversation about how there were no animals on the Ark, and that you walked to each location.

Next, she talks about when the delinquents took the Jobi Nuts and the hilarious stories she heard floating through the camp once the effects wore off. That prompts them all to giggle to no end, and even Lexa has trouble containing her own chuckles.

Each of them hangs on her every word, and much too soon, a knock on the door has them straightening up and trying to conceal any hint of their amusement. It’s like a dark cloud settles over the room, and Clarke can feel the shift.

The bald man that Clarke recognises to be Titus walks in, and he sends her a poisonous glare when his gaze shifts to her arms around the boy still sitting in her lap. He winces in her hold, and Clarke tightens her arms around him in reassurance before giving Titus a sweet smile, knowing it’ll piss him off. She turns back to finish what she was saying.

“It was nice to talk to you all today, and I hope to get to know each of you a little better in coming weeks.” She smirks at Lexa when she follows with, “Next time, I have this really cool story of how _Heda_ and I escaped a _pauna_.”

The kids gasp and stare at Lexa once more, and she smiles at them before directing it at Clarke. “I am interested to hear your version of this event, Clarke.”

She switches to Trigedasleng, and Clarke hears her promising them they’ll meet with her again soon, and that each of them is worthy of their nightblood.

Once she’s done, Titus yells out, “ _Natblida_ ”

They scramble to their feet, and Clarke lifts Nik to her side to avoid him stepping on Rome. She stands up next, finding her butt numb from sitting on the hard floor and watches as they form a line from youngest to oldest. Lexa comes to stand beside her with Remus at her feet.

“ _Mafta ai op,”_ He says, and they scurry off behind him.

Once they’re gone, Clarke turns to Lexa and realises that everything she just observed in those kids, Lexa was subjected to as well. She was taken from her family, raised with another group of children, only to be forced to kill them. Pity and sympathy are the last things she would want, but Clarke can’t stop her heart from sinking. She wonders about Lexa’s parents and childhood… whether she has any siblings or relatives.

They also haven’t interacted alone since Clarke put the lemon squares in her room, and a bundle of anxiety settles in her stomach as her hand comes to play with her father’s watch.

Lexa quells her nerves, looking a little bashful when she says, “Thank you for the lemon squares, Clarke”

Clarke meets her eyes, and all she can see in them is appreciation and an unnamed sparkle that she hasn’t seen there before.

She smiles, taking on a teasing tone, “You’re welcome. Has your sweet tooth gotten rid of them all already?”

Lexa purses her lips in response, and that’s all the answer Clarke needs. She lets out a chuckle, but the sound is cut off when the door to the room opens again and Titus reappears.

He walks up the red carpet and comes to a stop a couple of steps away.

“ _Wanheda_ , I thought I should finally introduce myself. My name is Titus; I am the Flamekeeper and closest advisor to _Heda_.”

_Why does that sound like a threat?_

Remus’s ears tilt back and he hisses at him, and Clarke resists rolling her eyes, “It’s good to finally meet you, I’ve heard _a lot_ about you”

Lexa clasps her hands behind her back, the underlying tension of Clarke’s passive-aggressive statement throwing them into a suffocating silence, “Is there anything else you wanted, Titus?”

“Yes,” He eyes Clarke with obvious contempt, “Will you give us a minute, _Wanheda?”_

“Sure. I’ll- um, I’ll see you later,” She responds, nodding to Lexa and clicking her tongue as she walks out to signal her cubs to follow.

* * *

Lexa is already extremely irritated at Titus for interrupting her moment with Clarke, “If this is about _Skaikru_ joining the Coalition again, I will not hear it.”

“No, this is about letting _Wanheda_ interact with the _Natblida_. She will undermine what I teach them, _Heda._ I cannot let that happen.”

Lexa digs her nails into her palms where they are still entwined at her back, “What proof do you have of this?”

“Our youngest is already becoming attached to her, she gives him physical affections that no _Natblida_ should get used to,” He responds, stepping closer and flaring his nostrils, “To be Commander is to be alone.”

They’re talking about more than just the _Natblida_ now, and Lexa realises that he may know of her weakness. But how could he? Is it because she smiled at Clarke when she talked of the _pauna_ story?

She doesn’t show any sign of her inner thoughts, “Enough, Titus. Nik is four summers old. He must not think that he is unworthy of being liked, or it will turn to resentment and affect his leadership.”

_Or rather, unworthy of being loved. Of receiving affection. Costia and Anya made sure I did not feel as such._

Titus shakes his head and steps closer, his voice going down an octave, “Why are you doing this? Queen Nia will make her move soon. Your enemies are circling. You can end this; you know what must be done. Take the power of _Wanheda_ and not one clan will dare to defy you. Strike her down.”

“I will not let the fear of war dictate our agenda. Killing _Wanheda_ would make a great enemy out of the _Skaikru_ , it is more beneficial to have them a part of the coalition,” She retorts, hoping that he’ll accept the logical side to it, because she can’t exactly tell him that she would never lay a finger on Clarke, and if anyone else did, she’d subject them to the worst death she can think of.

“And what happens when your own people start looking to her for answers? Because she is the one that commands death? Our people bowed to her on her arrival in Polis.”

Lexa clenches her jaw, quickly becoming irritated with the same argument that they keep having, “When _Wanheda_ bows to _me_ , it will show that she is my subject. That will be enough.”

“ _Heda_ -“

She holds up her hand, “You will show _Wanheda_ the respect she deserves.”

He drops his gaze to the floor and dips his head in submission, and Lexa promptly leaves the room.

The mere _suggestion_ that Clarke should die at her hand has her bulging cage of suppressed emotions threatening to falter. It would be like the collapse of a house of cards; instant and entirely unstoppable. The guilt for Costia’s death still haunts her, just as Clarke once accused her of, and this conversation has come too close to triggering it all over again.

But if Lexa is skilled at one thing, it’s pushing those emotions down until she almost forgets herself in the process. Until the sensation behind her eyes clears and her façade settles on her soul like a heavy yet familiar boulder, concealing any sign that there is anyone other than _Heda_ left inside her.

_It does me no good to remember you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is half of a larger chapter, so next time it'll pick up with Clarke right after she leaves the room. I know there wasn't as much clexa in this chapter, though I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. The nightbloods will be quite important & they give a good contrast and insight into Lexa's past and how she may have been raised. 
> 
> Next chapter will be clexa centric (whether that's a good or bad thing, you'll have to wait and find out :P) 
> 
> I've been uploading twice a week as most of you know, but I may have to cut that to once a week, university is starting to put more pressure again. I'll let you know when/if that happens though, I'm still around 45k words ahead of this chapter. Also, there's now 200 of you subscribed to the story, which means more to me than I can say. Thank you for reading & for the continued support <3


	14. Here Comes the Flood

After leaving Titus and Lexa in the throne room, Clarke visits her mother to check on her and ask how the tour was. She knocks, and the door swings open a couple seconds later.

Abby smiles at her, “Clarke! I’m glad you came by”

She nods to her guards to stay outside and steps into the room, walking straight into her mother’s embrace. _God_ , it feels so good to receive hugs so regularly again; Clarke is a firm believer that they have their own kind of healing properties, especially when they’re from a loved one.

“How was the tour?” Clarke asks once they separate.

“It was amazing, Polis really is special. Marcus made friends with a lot of the traders,” She says with a chuckle.

Clarke smiles, delighting in the idea of her people getting along with Lexa’s, “I’m sure he did”

“There’s so much we can do to improve their medical clinic. If we make another supply run to Mount Weather, then—”

Clarke’s chin falls forward, her entire body tensing with unease, “Hold on. You’ve been taking things from the mountain?”

Abby narrows her eyes, “…Yes. The supplies we retrieved have been invaluable. Raven has fixed one of their rovers, it makes patrolling a lot easier.”

Clarke steps across the room and puts her back to her mother. On one hand, it makes sense. Her people destroyed the mountain, and if the things there have potential to help her people to such an extent… It would be stupid to get rid of or not use the supplies. They’ve been used for such evil in the past, and now they can be used for good.

The problem is; the grounders won’t see it that way. They have such an aversion to technology, and they’ll definitely see it as a threat if the _Skaikru_ have control of the mountain. It has tremendous power, it’s loaded with missiles and other threats, what’s stopping them from moving in and becoming the new Mountain Men if they have a disagreement? Clarke shudders at the thought.

She turns around to face her, “I see why we should use the supplies, but mom, you can’t take anything else until I bring it up to the ambassadors _after_ we’ve joined the Coalition. They could see us as a threat and turn it against our people.”

Abby crosses her arms, “Fine, but Clarke, this should be on the top of your agenda once we join the Coalition. I may be able to help Raven with their medical facilities.”

That lights a fire of passion within Clarke, and she vows to herself that she’ll convince the ambassadors of the logic in using the mountain as soon as possible. They could turn it into a hospital for the entire coalition… change the legacy of the mountain from one of death to that of healing. This could be a huge win for everyone.

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Abby fixes her with a knowing look that is only ever reserved for her, “I know you will, sweetheart.”

“When are you and Kane leaving?”

“Tomorrow at sunrise.”

Clarke is surprised when her chest is hit with a pang of regret. It was nice to spend time with them, to share herself and show them how much she’s grown in the last few months. She knows she will visit Arkadia at some point in the near future, and that she’ll have to answer to a lot of pain she caused by leaving. She saw it in her mother as hollowed cheeks and dull, troubled eyes, and it’s clear that this hurt will extend to the rest of the delinquents.

“It might be good to send a radio back with the guards that escort you, then we can stay in touch,” Clarke suggests, and then adds, “And I’ll ask Lexa later for that food delivery.”

They talk about a few more details before Clarke excuses herself to find Anya. The sun is already setting, and she wants to know whether she’s heard any of the clans talking after her sparring earlier. Besides, she can tell that her cubs are tired out for the day. Between training in the morning and meeting the _Natblida_ , they’ve seen a lot of new things today.

She goes to her room to drop them off, watching as they huddle into a ball on their favourite spot on the sofa. Just as she opens her door to leave again, Lexa is walking past, presumably on her way to her own room.

Lexa blinks, clearly taken off guard, and Clarke catches a flicker of conflict and pain in those green eyes, as if her soul is running through a maze that has no true exit or answer. Clarke wonders what Titus told her when she left, but those eyes quickly become clouded, and any sign of her emotion disappears, leaving Clarke to question whether it was there in the first place. “Clarke.”

She nods back, “Lexa”

“I was about to send a messenger to find you, I am wondering if you might join me for the evening meal today? There is much to discuss.”

“Sure, I’ll be there. Do you know where Anya is?”

“I believe she is visiting an old friend in Polis. Would you like me to have someone send her a message?”

“Oh, no.. no it’s fine.” Clarke responds, somewhat awkwardly. “It’s nothing that can’t wait. When do you want me?”

Lexa’s eyebrows twitch upwards and her lips part slightly, and Clarke senses a hot blush creeping up her neck and cheeks until she’s beet-red. She can only pray that it's not too obvious.

“For dinner. I meant- Time. When do you want me for dinner?”

_Fuck, no. That’s even worse… How did I just make this worse?!_

Lexa is flushing too, and Clarke doesn’t dare open her mouth to rephrase again, because she’s sure she’ll find a way to make this even more uncomfortable. She wishes a hole would open beneath her feet to whisk her away.

Lexa’s throat bobs as she swallows thickly, “Yes. I mean, in an hour. For dinner. If that is okay.”

“That’s good with me, I’ll just- go now,” Clarke stammers before stepping back into her room and closing the door, not giving Lexa time to respond.

_What the fucking fuck was that, Clarke?!_

She groans and walks over to her bed, letting herself fall face-first onto the furs. That was _so_ embarrassing, and Clarke just _knows_ that dinner will be an awkward affair after this. At least she’ll have a funny story to tell Anya later… But this is so _not_ worth it. 

She tries to calm her mind by reading her book, but she can’t help but scrunch up her features every few minutes when her thoughts inevitably drift back to her disastrous word choices.

Too soon, it’s time to meet Lexa for dinner. Clarke steels herself, there is _no_ way that she’ll make a fool of herself again. She reminds herself that Lexa was stuttering just as much as she was, and with that thought, she leaves her quarters and crosses the short distance to the other girl’s room.

Clarke nods to the guards on either side of the door and knocks three times for good measure.

The command comes almost immediately, “Enter”

Clarke opens the door and spots her at the dining table, just like the previous morning. The only difference is that Lexa keeps her eyes locked on her own rather than flitting up and down her body, and Clarke thinks it’s taking her a lot of self-control.

“Clarke,” She says with her customary nod.

She walks into the room and joins Lexa, immediately registering how amazing the food smells. As far as she can tell, it’s some sort of seasoned meat and gravy along with potatoes, cheese and a bowl of salad. Her mouth waters, and of course, her stomach betrays her by growling loudly.

She returns the nod sheepishly and sees that Lexa has raised a brow, lips clearly fighting off a smile. “Let us eat.”

“I think my stomach would agree,” Clarke responds, taking the same seat as before.

They eat in a _somewhat_ comfortable silence for a few minutes before Clarke can’t take it anymore.

“So, my mom and Kane agreed to joining the Coalition,” Clarke starts, causing Lexa to look up, “I told them to put it to a vote in Arkadia as well, that way they can’t back out of it for any reason because they were part of the choice.”

Lexa scrutinizes her for a few beats, “You are certain that this vote will be in our favour?”

“I think they’ll appreciate being given the choice, rather than forcing them into it. I can’t make that decision for them. My mom and Kane are going to show them the benefits, and.. uhm-” Clarke scratches the back of her neck, unsure that her request will be received well. “Well, the food here is amazing, and I was thinking we could maybe send them some?"

“Trust me, if anything can convince us Sky People to do anything, it’s offering us good food,” Clarke adds with a smile.

“Very well. I will arrange for it to be sent with the Chancellor and Kane tomorrow,” Lexa informs her, smirking a little when she continues, “I can ask Gari to offer some of his cakes.”

“Oh my god, that would be _amazing_. We definitely won’t have to worry about that vote, then,” Clarke practically gushes. They’re just _really_ good pastries, okay? Back on the Ark, the food tasted like plastic – synthetic and inorganic.

Lexa raises a brow, taking on a playful tone, “Yet you tease me of having a ‘sweet tooth’”

Clarke’s mouth parts, morphing into a grin. “I remember you once told me that mockery is not the product of a strong mind.”

“It is good then, that I never claimed to have a strong mind,” Lexa retorts, and Clarke instantly catches onto the hidden message in those words.

_If love is weakness… Then call me weak._

It’s a subtle confession, riddled with deeper meanings that would overwhelm their tentative connection if deciphered, but it still sucks the air out of Clarke’s lungs, leaving her with a familiar fluttering sensation in her stomach. They hold eye contact as the words drift through the space between them, and Lexa looks like she wishes she could snatch them out of the air and swallow them back out of existence. As Clarke gazes into emeralds, she becomes hyperaware of that same invisible string, always pulling. And now that her anger isn’t blocking the sensations out, it’s as though the depths of Lexa’s feelings spark along the cord and into her own heart.

And instead of revelling in that connection as she once did, instead of being curious and open to exploring the sheer power of it as she once was all those months ago, it fills her with trepidation. This exact feeling has only caused her unspeakable pain, and she drops her gaze. The warmth she felt vanishes, and a chill seeps through her clothes and skin, settling deep within her bones.

Clarke can _hear_ Lexa swallow against the dryness that must have gathered in her throat, “The _Trishanakru_ ambassador wishes to meet with you for breakfast tomorrow.”

She’s glad for the topic change, and tries her best to fall back into the easy conversation they were in before, hoping her voice won’t betray her when she responds, “Okay, and he’s from one of the clans where I’ll have to use my powers of persuasion on, right?”

“Yes. The _Trishanakru_ are important farmers for the coalition, it would be good to offer him ways of improving this work.”

“Good to know… I’ll work my magic on him,” Clarke says, and as soon as those last words leave her mouth, she has to resist smacking her head into the table before her.

_Again, Clarke? Again?!_

Lexa simply looks at her with raised brows and an amused smirk in place, and Clarke knows she’s thinking the same thing.

Clarke shakes her head, “I think I should have just let Anya take out my tongue like she threatened so many times.”

“And what brought about these threats?” Lexa asks after subduing her features into indifference once again. It’s a smooth redirection, and Clarke mentally applauds her for it.

“I sort of did this thing where I’d see how far I can push her buttons during our Trigedasleng lessons,” Clarke answers, chuckling when she remembers their earliest sessions, “Our first lesson only lasted like five minutes because I kept pronouncing my name wrong.”

The same look of longing tinged with envy flits through green eyes, and Clarke wishes she could somehow give Lexa what she is clearly craving for. Maybe it’s her relationship with Anya, or maybe it’s simply being away from leadership for a while. Most likely the latter.

But Lexa is trapped, she’s caged, and there’s no way out of that. She was raised to see herself as expendable, as nothing more than a vessel for the supposed spirit of the Commander, and Clarke finds herself wanting to spend more time with the nightbloods as soon as possible. She learned a lot about Lexa’s past simply by being with them, and she enjoyed her time with them; they’re so pure and innocent, and it’s refreshing to be around people who aren’t as tainted as she is.

Lexa’s lips tug into a small smile, “She once pushed me into horse droppings for suggesting that she should find a lover.”

“How old were you?” Clarke questions through a bout of laughter. She can’t fault Lexa, having a partner might do Anya some good, they could soften her up even more so than Rome has.

“Thirteen, it was a few months before I became Commander. She could never have done so after I ascended.”

Clarke hums in thought, “So you were fourteen when you became Commander?”

“ _Sha_ ,” She responds, but Clarke can see a hesitancy about the topic by the way she stiffens. Her rise to power may not be her fondest memory, with having to kill her fellow novitiates. Clarke resists shuddering and hopes that changing the subject will ease her again.

“When can I see the nightbloods again?”

Lexa’s expression softens in a fondness that Clarke has only seen in parents before, and she realises that Lexa truly loves these kids as if they were her own. And judging by the way they looked at her with their bright and glossy eyes, positively shining with adoration, they feel the same for her. Maybe it’s a selfish love that Lexa allows herself to have because she won’t be there to witness their deaths. It can’t cause her unbearable pain if she’s not there to watch it, though Clarke wonders if Lexa has ever thought of changing the Conclave herself.

“You could join me tomorrow during their afternoon training session,” She says before pursing her lips, “Although this could be a terrible idea, they will fight to impress you.”

Clarke grins, “I’ll be there. I’m sure Nik will love seeing Rome again.”

“That he will,” She agrees, before a look of curiosity takes over her features. “You have yet to tell me how you chose the names of your _natstepa_.”

Clarke spends the next while explaining the ancient story to Lexa, and it coaxes another chuckle from her when she mentions the ridiculous ending. Clarke wishes she could physically capture the rare sound and put it inside of her chest for safekeeping. It ignites that same fluttering as before, and the coldness that settled in her bones seems to freeze into ice. It comes as a shock to her system, and she needs to leave before she inevitably shows signs of her unease. It doesn’t help that the candles are projecting the room in a gentle, orange hue and the way it makes Lexa’s hair seem fiery yet soft, only inviting her to run her fingers through it.

“Well, I should probably go. It’s getting late,” Clarke says after stifling a yawn, trying to appear casual.

Lexa nods, although the gesture has an uncharacteristic reluctance to it. Even so, “Goodnight, Clarke.”

Green eyes are looking at her like she’s a star just out of her reach, and Clarke gulps when her heart quivers in her chest, “ _Reshop, Heda_ ”

She uses her title rather than name to distance herself from the informality that they basked in during their conversation, because those butterflies that have come back to life in her stomach for the first time since before the betrayal… it’s not a welcome sensation _at all_.

Clarke _can’t_ go down this road again. The last time, this exact road led her straight to the edge of a cliff, and Lexa kicked her right off of it when her back was turned. And the impact _hurt_ so, so badly. It’s one of the only things she never talked about to Anya.

_Couldn’t. Too painful._

With a last nod, Clarke walks from the room without sparing another glance at Lexa, even when a prickling sensation at the back of her neck follows her out.

* * *

After heading back to her room, Clarke changes quickly and doesn’t even bother brushing her teeth before slipping under the covers. Soon, tears are streaming down the side of her face and she muffles her sobs in the pillow as best she can. Her cubs join her on the bed when they hear her. 

Remus lets out a low whine in concern, and he nips her neck, but she doesn’t welcome it as usual. She ignores him, and he settles as a warm weight by her side instead.

What’s the name for an emotion where an old feeling that should be exciting, should feel _good_ , suddenly terrifies her? That no matter how much she may try, there’s no way to block it out? Those butterflies she experienced earlier… they have led to nothing but pain in the past.

She felt them in the beginning with Finn, and now all that’s left of him is the memory of her knife slipping through his chest, layer by layer until his unwashable blood soaked her hands. She felt it with Lexa, and it ended with death and _heartbreak_. And yet, she _still_ feels. The fluttering is _still_ there. She vowed to herself that this wouldn’t happen again, but it’s _useless_ …

Although it’s a weak thing to do, Clarke can understand why Lexa shut off her feelings entirely after losing Costia. Maybe it’s not the weak thing to do as she once accused her of, maybe it’s simply the _easy_ thing to do. Whether easy equates to weak, she doesn’t know. But Clarke is Clarke, she has always and will always think with her heart. She wasn’t lying when she once told Lexa she could never see love as weakness, but instead she’s realising she _fears_ it.

Clarke’s pillow is damp from her pained and salty tears by the time she falls asleep.

_Rather than turning her back and walking away, Lexa stays with her in front of the door. Butterflies come to life in Clarke’s stomach at the gesture, that even though she ordered her armies to retreat, Lexa is still by her side. They will face whatever is behind that door together._

_It happens just as it did before, Clarke finds her way to the mines, except this time Lexa holds her hand the entire way there. She defends her against Octavia’s verbal attack, and it only intensifies the feelings Clarke is harboring for her._

_Together, they take Dante hostage in the control room just as before, and eventually, Monty gives her the signal that he’s done it; all she has to do is pull this lever._

_Her shaky fingers wrap around the chilling metal lever, ready to save her people. But suddenly, Clarke realises that something is wrong. Something is different. The monitors aren’t showing her mom writhing against her cuffs as her bones are being drilled into… No, the only monitor still on is the one displaying the mess hall._

_A bolt of terror shocks the nerves of her spine when she realises that the people at the tables aren’t the mountain men.. they’re her people. More specifically, people she cares about._

_She watches as Monty and Jasper share a cake, registering that the only person left in the control room with her is Lexa._

_Raven sits with Sinclair, and she has a smirk in place as she always does when she talks about how awesome she is._

_She spots Bellamy, who is undoubtedly teasing Octavia and Lincoln over their relationship._

_Her mom and Kane smile over everyone, watching the peace they brought to their people._

_The rest of the original delinquents are scattered through the dining hall, and finally, she spots Anya and Indra at one table, each with a cub on their lap._

_Another hand covers Clarke’s own where she is still gripping the lever. Clarke’s eyes widen, and she tries to remove it, but it’s like there’s glue between it and her hand. Tremors run through her body, and the pleasant butterflies turn into raging wasps that sting and burn her insides._

_“Lexa, I don’t understand. We need to get them out of here, it’s not safe,” Clarke says, eyes darting from the monitor and back to the brunette. Her hand is sweating, but Lexa’s hand doesn’t waver._

_“This is what love leads to, Clarke,” She responds, and her eyes are an icy grey as she pulls the lever._

_Clarke watches the monitor and her breathing increases, tears spilling down her cheeks when she watches burns breakout across her people’s skin, and each of them sputter and thrash, eventually dropping forward onto the tables._

_Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, and when she reopens them, she’s standing in the entrance of the dining hall with Lexa still at her side. She stumbles forward and sees her cubs whining and howling beside Anya’s body, and it’s simply too much. Clarke cries out, sobs tearing through her throat until-_

_Bang._

Clarke jerks forward, and she doesn’t know whether the shrill sound that echoes through the room is her own scream. Her vision is blurry from her tears, but she blinks through them and sees that the loud noise was the guards bursting through her doors of her room.

Her eyes frantically dart around the room, but she can’t tell if her dream was real or not. She fists her hands into her hair just as a figure practically sprints into the room, hissing something at the guards. Clarke doesn’t register that a second person also enters.

It’s Anya, and a second later, her familiar scent enraptures her as she is held from behind, strong arms circling her waist. She sags into her, resting her head on her shoulder and closing her eyes, just like she always did before she started getting better.

The bed dips again, which Clarke finds strange, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

“You are safe, _skaigada_ ,” Anya whispers into her ear, “Breathe.”

Her heart is pounding, and the images of the dream are still too vivid in her mind, so she opens her eyes to prove to herself that she’s not in that damned mountain.

But when she sees Lexa sitting at the edge of her bed, brows furrowed and green eyes flashing with panicked concern, Clarke can only see the Lexa in her dreams.

_This is what love leads to, Clarke._

She snaps her head to the side, her entire body tensing and squirming against Anya’s hold as a strangled sob rips free from her throat, and she can only pray that Anya picks up on the reason.

Anya fixes Lexa with a look and nods her head to the door. She gets the message, swiftly leaving the room.

Clarke notices that it’s just the two of them now, and she relaxes a little and tries once again to get her breathing under control. Anya takes deep breaths that she can feel at her back, and it takes her a few minutes until she can match them to her own.

As soon as she’s no longer on the verge of passing out from hyperventilation, she sits forward and tucks her knees to her chest. She allows herself to cry, but this time, she lets herself feel every bit of pain that was cut into her heart when she watched Lexa walk away. Clarke hasn’t let herself break like this about the betrayal yet, and soon, her tears are for more than just that. She cries for her people, for Lexa and everything she observed in the nightbloods. For _herself_ and anyone who has had to experience what it’s like to end a life or to lose someone dear to them.

Anya doesn’t tell her to calm down, or that everything is okay. She simply holds Clarke together as an unjudging presence. She’s always right behind her to make sure she is okay, she’s always there to stand with Clarke in her battles; both physical and emotional. Just like she vowed.

Both of their cubs sit beside them, watching their friends with the occasional squeak of worry.

Clarke isn’t sure how much time passes between Lexa leaving the room and now, but her tears have finally stopped. And she feels _so_ much lighter, as if she was holding onto all of these emotions like bricks, and she finally let them drop through each shed tear.

“Remind me of why we ever left the bunker?” Clarke asks through a watery chuckle.

Anya shifts, coming to sit beside her with one arm still around her waist. Her eyes are full of that same concern she saw in Lexa, and Clarke swallows nervously. She hasn’t had such a loss of control since the first couple of weeks she spent with Anya.

Clarke returns her gaze and tries to reassure her, though her voice is raw and hoarse, “I’m okay. It was just a blip.”

It sounded weak, even to her, but the one thing she will _not_ do is tell Anya of _all_ people that her old feelings for _Lexa_ triggered it all. But she isn’t lying either, she _does_ feel better, and if Clarke had to put a word to it, she would say it’s relief. Perhaps she just needed this burst of emotion to process some things that she ignored before, because she tried her hardest to suppress any thoughts of Lexa during her time at the bunker.

Anya scrutinizes her for a few seconds, the only light being the moonlight streaming in from the huge window.

“You had a nightmare?”

“Yes. But I’m fine, really. I think I just needed to process some things that I pushed away when we were at the bunker.”

“ _Ait_ ,” Anya responds, dropping her arm from her waist, but Clarke can tell she’s still wary about leaving her.

“I just- Could I stay with you tonight?” Clarke asks, because it’ll probably ease both of their nerves for the rest of the night, and the beds here have enough space for at _least_ three people.

Anya nods and gets up from the bed, picking Rome up and placing him back on the floor before doing the same with Remus. Clarke’s legs are weak, and her steps are wobbly as she crosses the room.

Anya quietly opens the door and they step into the hallway, momentarily confused by the lack of guards until they see Lexa sitting beside Clarke’s door with her long legs tucked to her chest. She had clearly dozed off while she was waiting, but her eyes snap open when she senses their gazes on her.

Lexa’s eyes widen when she sees that it’s not just Anya, and she stands up abruptly, her back as stiff as ever. She was clearly waiting for Anya to hear how Clarke is doing.

Clarke drops her gaze in embarrassment, “I’m sorry for waking you up. You didn’t have to.. you know.”

“There is nothing to apologise for,” Lexa responds, and Clarke can tell that she is itching to ask her how she is, so she answers the unasked question.

“I’m okay now, it was just a nightmare that caught me off guard. That.. it usually doesn’t get this bad anymore. I feel much better now though.”

“ _Reshop, strikon_ ,” Anya says, fixing Lexa with a knowing look that Clarke can’t quite decipher.

“Sleep well, _seda_. Goodnight, Clarke.”

Clarke gives her a small smile, “Goodnight, Lexa”

She uses Lexa’s actual name when she says it this time, and the slight fluttering that dances in her heart and abdomen at the fact that Lexa stayed up on the cold, hard floor just to hear how she’s doing doesn’t terrify her anymore.

_I am sorry that I caused you pain, Clarke. I never intended to hurt you._

Clarke remembers the way Lexa said those words, the way she allowed them to be reflected in her eyes, all for her to see. A lone thread of trust slowly pricks into the gash that Lexa left on her heart, and Clarke doesn’t know how long or what it’s going to take for that thread to sow it closed until a simple scar remains, but she does know that it’s on the right path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 3rd... how much crying have you all been doing today? I went through two boxes of tissues myself. 
> 
> I contemplated whether to post this today, seeing how it's already a pretty heavy day in the fandom, but since it ends on a positive note, I decided to post it. It was so nice to read all of your comments on the last chapter, and that you liked the nightbloods so much! Next chapter there'll be some more fluffy nightblood content :)
> 
> Hope you're doing okay & thank you for reading xo


	15. Breathe a Little Deeper

Anya wakes Clarke the following morning, already dressed in her long overcoat with her hair in its usual braids. The sun has barely begun to rise, and Clarke groans, turning away from the noise and burying her face in a pillow.

“Get up, _skaigada_. The Chancellor and Kane will be leaving soon, and after you are meeting with the _Trishanakru_ ambassador.”

“Five more minutes,” Clarke grumbles, but when a freezing liquid hits the back of her neck, she yelps and rolls to the side, coming to fall off of the bed and onto the hard floor.

She glares up at her mentor who is now towering over her, wholly unamused when she starts laughing.

Clarke gets to her feet and crosses her arms, “I am never sleeping here again”

“My plan has worked, then,” Anya retorts, and Clarke playfully swats her arm before returning to her own quarters to wash up and get changed into her _Wanheda_ outfit.

Once her shoulder guard is clicked into place, she returns to Anya’s room and together with their cubs they walk through the main road of Polis to the gate. She spots her mom and Kane, along with a group of guards to escort them beside a bunch of horses. Lexa is there too, hands clasped behind her back.

“Clarke!” Abby calls out as soon as she sees her.

She speeds up her steps and falls straight into her mother’s embrace, releasing a long sigh into her neck.

They release each other, but Abby keeps her hands on Clarke’s cheeks, cradling them gently as if she’s afraid her daughter might shatter before her eyes, “Be safe, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon through the radio, okay?”

Clarke can only nod back, her dream from the following night still haunting her. She turns and gives Kane a hug too, although it’s much shorter.

Clarke manages a small smile, “May we meet again”

“May we meet again,” They echo back.

Lexa comes up beside Clarke and holds out her arm for Abby to take.

“A cart of food from Polis will arrive at sundown tomorrow,” She says with a nod, moving to grasp Kane’s forearm next.

“Thank you, Commander. We appreciate it,” Kane responds.

Anya joins Clarke’s other side and exchanges a brief farewell with them too, and they stand there until the horses disappear beyond the treeline.

A comfortable atmosphere remains between them, but three quickly become two when Rome and Remus have their own plans, deciding to chase each other along the wall of the city. The last time they took their eyes off of their cubs, they wandered to Gari’s bakery and clawed into a bag of flour. The poor man almost had a heart attack when he came back to see two panthers covered in white powder and making a mess of his entire kitchen.

Clarke and Lexa remain behind, watching with amusement as the exasperated general tries to keep up with them.

“Looks like she’ll be busy for a while,” Clarke says through a bout of laughter.

Lexa chuckles too, it would be impossible not to, “You make a good point. I can show you to the room where _Rafel kom_ _Trishana_ will be.”

Clarke nods, “That would be great, I really don’t feel like pissing him off by being late.”

Lexa doesn’t make a move towards the gate though, and Clarke catches a brief spell of conflict behind her green eyes.

“Clarke, I want you to know that I meant what I said last night,” Lexa says, and her expression softens even as she swallows harshly before adding, “I get them too”

Of course, Lexa is plagued by nightmares just as she is. If not more, because through her time with Anya, Clarke has learned that when you push down emotions or refuse to feel them, they _will_ haunt you subconsciously. And if Lexa pushed everything into numbness… who knows what demons chase her at night.

But who is there to hold Lexa when she wakes up from them? Clarke gulps, trying to rid herself of the thought.

“Thank you, and I’m um- sorry for reacting the way I did. I’m not used to anyone else being there when.. you know,” Clarke explains, and it’s a white lie, but it’s not entirely untrue. She freaked out at Lexa’s presence because of the dream, but she’s also not accustomed to anyone other than Anya seeing her at her worst. 

Lexa raises a brow, “I believe I told you to stop apologising.”

Clarke was about to say sorry for that too, but she catches herself. “Right. Well, we should get going. I’ll see you soon for the sparring session with the nightbloods.”

Lexa nods, leading Clarke back through the gate and into the streets of Polis. There are more people now, opening their stands and getting organised for a day of trading. Most of them dip their head in respect, muffles of ‘ _Heda_ ’ and ‘ _Wanheda_ ’ drifting to them from all directions until they step into the tower.

The elevator stops a few floors lower than Clarke’s quarters, and she finds herself becoming more and more nervous as Lexa continues to lead her through the corridors. She _has_ to convince this man to vote in her favour, she’s not exactly counting on _Azgeda_ or _Sankru_ , both of which are closely allied with each other. That leaves her with three of four clans outside of the _Trikru_ ’s close allies who she must persuade.

They come to a stop in front of a big, wooden door and Lexa turns to her, “Good luck, Clarke.”

Clarke takes a breath, summoning her skills of persuasion that have helped her through many situations. She already feels a small kick of adrenaline.

She nods at Lexa, quirking a brow and knowing full well that she’ll confuse the girl when she says, “Piece of cake”

“I’ll explain later,” Clarke adds with a smirk when she watches Lexa’s brows pull together slightly.

She knocks on the door three times and hears a gruff “ _Min yu op”_ in response, so she pushes down the handle and steps into the room.

The layout is quite similar to the room she was in when reuniting with her mom and Kane; she sees a big, round table in the middle and a large window. A strong, savoury smell fills her senses, and her eyes wander to an array of foods that Clarke has never even seen before, and she’s suddenly excited to try them.

Her eyes wander to a man standing beside the table, and she remembers that she’s here to do more than drool over food. She takes in his appearance; he has thick dreadlocks coiled onto his head while other strands hang loosely around his shoulders. He also has a beard and tattoos in the shape of four dots above each of his eyebrows, and Clarke assumes that this is a customary tattoo for the glowing forest people.

“ _Wanheda_ , it is good to finally meet you. I am _Rafel kom Trishana_.”

“Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, Rafel,” She responds, matching his outward formality.

“Please, sit.” She does as he says, settling down in a chair opposite to the one he takes. “Everything you see here was produced in my clan,” He adds, and she can easily read the pride lacing his tone as he watches her reactions.

Clarke takes advantage of it, deciding to compliment him and hopefully open a pathway to discussing the vote, “It smells amazing, I heard your people are the best farmers of the land”

“ _Sha._ We provide much of the harvest to the people of Polis.”

He takes a bite out of what Clarke thinks could be an omelette, and she does the same with the one on her plate. It tastes as good as it smells, with little pieces of tomato and pepper in it, and she can’t stop the small sigh from escaping her lips.

“This is so good, we didn’t really have the best food back on the Ark - our home in the sky. There were no animals or real soil there.”

“Then how did you eat?” He genuinely looks intrigued, and Clarke sees an opening.

“Well, we had synthetic soil, and there are workers called genetic engineers who can make plants grow ten times faster, as well as make them resistant to any diseases. There’s never any waste of food and they grow to the biggest version possible.”

Clarke clamps down on a smug smile when he pauses his chewing to listen closer, as if he must have heard wrong.

“Do the crops retain their taste with these.. modifications, as you say?”

“In the synthetic soil, it didn’t taste as good. But in real soil here on the ground? Definitely.”

He narrows his eyes, and Clarke realises he might feel threatened… _Fuck._

“If you are speaking true, then why should I vote for _Skaikru_ to join the _kongeda_? It will take away from our own trading deals.”

_Double fuck._

Clarke steels herself, “It doesn’t have to. Joining the coalition means we’ll share our techniques, if you want. And Arkadia doesn’t have the farming land to produce for anyone other than its own people, so we won’t be trading food with others. Your trade deals will stay unaffected and if anything, they’ll only improve if you let us modify your crops.”

He considers this for a while, the only sounds being the occasional scrape of a knife against their wooden plates.

For a second, Clarke thinks she knows what Raven experiences whenever she fixes some piece of tech, because right now, she feels like a fucking genius. Her point is irrefutable.

He gives her a smile that speaks of a pirate finding a treasure, “Very well, _Wanheda_. I cannot deny that this is beneficial for both of our people.”

A burst of energy rises up Clarke’s spine, and _fuck_ , winning people over with her words is such a satisfying feeling. There’s a certain finesse to it, and she’s always been good at debating and getting her point across; it's a skill that has been quite useful since arriving on the ground.

This win comes with another piece of knowledge; she’s doing something _good_ for once. Instead of adding to the irremovable blood on her hands, she’s pushing for a better future, one in which people work _together_ to elevate each other.

They spend the rest of breakfast working out the logistics, with Clarke doing her best to explain basic genetics and gene therapy while Rafel tells her what crops they grow, and the animals they rear.

When Clarke leaves the room with a. potential deal in the works for a steady food supply for her people, she smiles to herself; _One down, eight to go._

She returns to her quarters and changes into sparring clothes to meet with Anya until she has to meet Lexa for the _Natblida_ ’s training session.

Once she arrives at the training grounds, she spots her mentor waiting for her against the usual tree with both cubs beside her feet. Clarke senses many eyes on her, but she focuses single-mindedly on getting to Anya, so she doesn’t notice the way many of the warriors begin to form a line.

Anya raises a brow once Clarke is within hearing distance, “Well?”

“I have his vote _and_ a potential trade deal for my people to have a constant food supply,” Clarke says with a proud grin.

Anya gives her a nod of approval, “I expected no less”

“I was going to ask yesterday, but have you heard anything from the people who were watching me fight yesterday?”

“Yes, they recognised your sword. Those who lost to you are now bragging about sparring against the legendary sword of _Wanheda_ ,” Anya says, sarcasm infused her words. “You have solidified your title to anyone who had doubts, but now…”

Anya motions to a point behind Clarke, and she turns to find a queue of warriors, presumably there to have a chance at fighting against death.

 _Wonderful_.

Clarke turns back to Anya with a scowl, “Anya, I can’t possibly fight all of these people.”

“No. But you will fight the first five.”

“I better make the most of it, then,” Clarke responds, setting her jaw as the challenge fills her with determination. There’s a lot of pressure on her now to do well, but as long as she trusts her natural instincts with her sword, she knows she won’t make a complete fool of herself.

The first up is an extremely tall and bulky man, reminding her of Gustus. Therefore, he won’t be very fast, but he’ll be much stronger; tiring him out by parrying his strikes won’t do the job this time because if he lands even one hit, she won’t be able to recover. She quickly works up a plan in her mind and rips her sword from its sheath.

Clarke walks to the middle of the field to meet the warrior, and they share a brief nod. His eyes drift down to her weapon, and his eyes fill with wonder before he blankets his features into impassivity.

Instead of a sword, he’s wielding a huge battle axe. He has no reason to attack her first, and with his height he also has a much wider reach than her.

He bares his teeth through a growl, and Clarke starts circling him, always out of scope.

She twirls her sword in a few impressive moves that she picked up on, but makes no move to strike first. Instead, Clarke keeps circling him and tries to work out his positional weaknesses by watching how he shifts to keep her in front.

_The most important part of any fight is maintaining your balance. Without it, you cannot defend or attack._

Anya’s words play in her mind, and she has no problem keeping up this game.

It seems he’s sick of it though; he leaps forward and pelts his weapon through the air, and Clarke barely manages to duck out of the way, hearing a loud whooshing as it misses her head.

There's a layer of rubber on the blade so that she wouldn’t be split in half, but it still would have knocked her out for a few hours if the hit landed. But that’s how they train, and it also makes the warriors more immune to pain; accidents will happen.

She picked up on a weakness in the way he moves his left side though, and as she moves out of the way she lands a hard strike to his back with her elbow.

He grunts, and she moves back out of his range, returning to orbit him as before.

The next time he attacks, she ducks again, but before he can recover from the momentum to lash the axe through the air, she knocks it out of his hand by spinning to his left and pointing her sword at his chest.

That fight was almost too easy, she thinks. Clarke has noticed by observing the warriors throughout the last few days that many of them attack based on muscle memory and try to figure out a weakness _during_ the fight. But Clarke has found that she can win by finding those flaws before it even begins. It’s like a chess match, she just needs to find out what piece her opponent is; how they move and what they can and can’t do.

And most of the time, patience will win. She remembers when the _pauna_ found Lexa and herself when they were trapped in its feeding ground. Lexa’s first instinct was to try to fight it, but Clarke knew they were no match for their opposition… So, she let it in. She trapped it, and that can translate to tiring someone out, or simply waiting until they make a mistake. The trap is their own weakness, and no one is without weakness.

She’s fast on her feet and has great reflexes, but she’s quite short and hasn’t had as much time to strengthen her muscles to match these warriors who have been training their entire lives. She simply doesn’t have the stamina or strength yet to attack without tiring. She has to outsmart them instead, and so far, it’s working.

Her next opponent is a woman, and she’s clearly much more experienced than her last challengers. She uses a sword too, and Clarke almost stands down after she fails to stop a hard punch to her cheek, but eventually finds an opening to start her own attack, and from there her instinct takes over and wins her the fight.

She wins the next two as well, but drops the fifth round to a girl a few years older than herself. But Clarke doesn’t mind, she held her own for a long time and this warrior was insanely good. She wields twin blades like Lexa, and Clarke can only compliment her after she concedes the fight.

“That… was amazing, you’ve gotta teach me how to throw someone down like that at some point,” Clarke rasps out between breaths. She was winded when the warrior somehow flipped her on her back, and she still hasn’t fully recovered. 

“You are humble, _Wanheda_. It would be an honour to train with you,” She responds with a smile.

Clarke returns the smile, taking in the girl’s features. She’s slim but muscular and has fiery red hair matched with blue eyes. It’s a complexion she hasn’t seen before in any grounders, and her fingers itch to draw her unique features.

“Do you have a name?”

She raises an eyebrow at the question, “ _Mari kom Ingranronakru_ ”

“Well, you can call me Clarke. And I think my _fos_ wants to see me, so I’ll um- see you soon,” Clarke says, gesturing to Anya.

“ _Leida_ , Clarke.”

She gives her one last smile before joining Anya and her cubs again.

“You are doing well, _skaigada_. You have figured out your own combat style, and although it must be infuriating to fight against, it is fun to watch.”

Clarke grins, “Thank you”

“The _Natblida_ training session will begin soon, I will escort you to their private training area,” Anya informs her before smirking, “I hope you will hold your own against these _goufas._ ”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she knows not to underestimate them. If they’ve been training since they could pick up a sword… She’ll take her chances with Nik.

Anya leads her to a ledge that overlooks Polis and the grandiose tower it houses. The actual training ground is small, but it suits its purpose. There’s an old-world fountain in the middle filled with dirty water, and the area is enclosed by huge boulders that pile up at the sides.

“Clarke, Anya,” Lexa’s voice greets them.

Clarke turns around and watches as Lexa’s jaw clenches when her eyes wander down her dishevelled state before fixing her with a questioning gaze.

“Let’s just say I had an intense sparring session, and it’s not just the other second’s that I’m fighting anymore,” Clarke answers, cheeks heating up under the scrutiny. She didn’t even consider her appearance, but she can feel at least two bruises forming on her face, let alone the rest of her body. It looks a lot worse than it actually is, and she's suddenly glad that her mom is no longer here.

“You had barely three months of training, and you are fighting my warriors?”

Clarke quirks her brows, “Try me”

Truthfully, it’s her connection to the sword that allows her to be way ahead of where she should be with her combat skills, and sparring matches are different to what it would be like in an actual fight. She has a long way to go before she’d be able to match Lexa’s warriors in a fight to the death. They’re much more accustomed to pain and fighting through it.

“ _Heda!_ And _Wanheda!”_ A shriek resounds through the area, and a second later, Nik and the rest of the nightbloods come into view, followed by a typically irritated looking Titus.

“ _Hei, Natblida_ ,” Lexa says, giving them one of her small smiles reserved only for people she cares about. “You will complete your usual warm-up and then practice the individual moves I taught you the last day.”

 _“Sha, Heda_ ,” They respond in unison.

Clarke watches as Aden and Tori start jogging around the field together, while Tomas, Elli and Zoar form another group, and lastly Deca and Nik run after them as fast as their little legs will carry them. Clarke chuckles as she watches them try to keep up with the others, but it’s fruitless. Rome and Remus seem to want in on the session too, because they dash after them and keep pace with the pair of youngest. Anya excuses herself and returns to the training grounds to complete her own training for the day.

Lexa turns to her after watching the _Natblida_ for a couple minutes, “How was breakfast, Clarke?”

“I have his vote in the bag,” Clarke says with a nod.

“Good. Over the next few days, you should meet with the five allies of _Trikru_ to ensure their votes, and the _Oukejonkru_ and _Louwoda Kliron_ ambassadors wish to meet with you.”

“Okay, I’ll have a radio soon, so I’ll know how my people respond to the idea of joining the coalition,” She informs her before another thought comes to mind, “I never asked about _Azgeda_ , by the way. How did they explain attacking us in the middle of _Trikru_ territory?”

Lexa’s jaw clenches, “They said they were a group of bandits that were not under any orders from the Queen.”

“That’s bullshit, they literally said ‘our _kwin_ has much to discuss with you’,” Clarke responds with a snort.

“I can’t do anything without proof or a confession.”

Clarke can tell that it grinds on Lexa’s last nerve for _Azgeda_ to still get away with disrespecting her. They lied straight to her face about the attack, but there’s nothing she can do… not unless she wants to start a war.

“A confession is out of the question,” Clarke sighs, regretting the fact that they killed all of them. They could have taken one to Polis with them as a prisoner and offered him something in exchange for his confession. It's too late now, and perhaps it was for the best. Who knows what kind of torture they would be subjected to for information.

“Nia will make her move soon, but I believe she will wait until _Skaikru_ have joined the _kongeda_. I assume her plans included you, and now she is reassessing.”

Clarke crosses her arms, “We’ll be ready for whatever she has in store”

“I hope so,” Lexa says as the _Natblida_ finish their warm-up and retrieve a wooden sword or staff from a large barrel.

Every nightblood has their own tailored training regime suited to their age, strengths and weaknesses, and Clarke watches as Lexa spends time with each of them, correcting their footwork and offering them advice.

Rome and Remus have tired themselves out already, opting to snuggle into each other on the moss beside a tree. They’ve grown a little more, and Clarke realises it may be time to wean them off of their milk substitute that the cooks in Polis have been dutifully providing her with each morning and evening.

Eventually, they pair up to test out their new moves in an actual fight. Lexa pulls Aden to the side to spar him using a wooden staff, and she nods for Clarke to do the same with Tori.

“Hey, you’re Tori, right? The second oldest,” Clarke says with a smile, remembering her from the last day.

“ _Sha, Wanheda_.”

Clarke picks up a staff from the bucket and joins her again.

“I thought I told you guys to call me Clarke. What’s your preferred weapon?”

The girl has brown hair with a bunch of braids in it, and she looks at Clarke as if the question is meant to be a test of her character. “I like using a sword. I think my _nontu_ did as well.”

Clarke’s heart falls a little, wondering when she was brought to Polis that she only has a vague memory of her father.

“Swords are my favourite too,” Clarke tells her, and her brown eyes brighten.

“Is it true that you have the sword of _Wanheda_?” She asks, and her cheeks tint red.

Clarke smiles at her, hoping it’ll encourage her to be herself and leave her mask off, “It’s true, you wanna see?”

Tori nods eagerly, and Clarke leads her to where she placed her sheathed sword so it wouldn’t be in the way during their spar.

“You can pull it out.”

She looks at Clarke with wide eyes, “You would let me touch your sword?”

“You know how to use one, so you won’t hurt yourself, right?”

“ _Sha. Heda_ showed me how to wield a sword.”

“Then go for it.”

Tori’s hand wraps around the golden hilt, pulling it from its sheath in one smooth motion. Her eyes are alight with wonder as she stares at the silver blade and down to the panthers and skull on the guard along with the intricate golden swirls on the grip and pommel.

Clarke makes eye-contact with Lexa from across the field and shrugs sheepishly. The other kids stare at them with wide eyes, all looking at the sword in Tori’s hand while Titus seems like he’s trying to strangle her with a single look.

“We should get to training, I want to see what moves you’ve learned,” Clarke says, prompting Tori to nod and re-sheathe it.

“Don’t go too hard on me, okay?”

That prompts Tori to giggle, and Clarke can tell that she didn’t mean for it to come out by the way she ducks her head.

For the next hour, they spar with the wooden staffs, consisting of Clarke parrying each attack and occasionally offering her own. Tori is quite skilled; she landed a good few hits to add to Clarke’s growing collection of bruises. She’s glad that Anya started her training with hand-to-hand combat and transitioned into wooden staffs, and only when she was proficient at both did she move on to teaching her to use a sword, or else she’d have made a fool of herself. They provide a good basis for her growing skills.

After the warm-down stretches, they sit in a semi-circle on the grass while Lexa paces before them and covers areas they need to work on. Nik took the opportunity to hurl himself into her lap again, and he looked a little bashful after doing it, but she reassured him by bringing her arms around his waist.

Every child peers up at Lexa with reverence shining from their youthful, innocent eyes, and it reaffirms to Clarke that the bond they have with her runs deep in their hearts. It warms her, to watch how free Lexa moves as she’s teaching them. It’s as if the weight on her shoulders diminishes, and she’s simply a warrior teaching her seconds.

Her cubs apparently decided that they had enough sleep as Rome comes to sit beside Clarke, much to the delight of the boy in her lap, and Remus trails Lexa as she paces up and back throughout her lecture. At first, it causes the kids to stifle their laughter, but when Titus glares at them, it dies down quickly, and Clarke subconsciously tightens her grip around Nik.

“ _Natblida_ ,” Titus calls out with two claps once Lexa concludes her lesson.

Nik turns to Clarke, his mop of black hair even more tousled than usual. He pouts, whispering, “You said yous would tell the stowy of _Heda_ and the _pauna_.”

Clarke’s heart breaks a little at how sad his eyes are. He _definitely_ knows how cute he is and how to use that to his advantage.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He still looks unsure, and Clarke has an idea.

“The Sky People seal promises by linking their pinky fingers,” Clarke holds out hers, and when he copies the motion, she joins them together. “Pinky promises are unbreakable, so now you know I’m not lying.”

That seems to reassure him, and he beams at her before bouncing up to join the others, taking his place at the front of the line. The rest of them watched the exchange, and when she turns to Lexa, her lips are parted slightly. Green eyes look at her like they did when she met Cora. The same longing, the same _love_ shines freely for her to read, and her stomach flips like someone trying to walk uphill on ice. But unlike last night, it doesn’t fill her with the same fear. And after seeing the way Lexa cares for each of the nightbloods as if they were her own, Clarke knows that she’s probably looking at Lexa in a similar way.

It’s only when Clarke feels an intense gaze on them both that she looks up, seeing Titus’s dark, beady eyes darting between them. His eyes narrow when she returns his gaze, and Lexa clasps her hands behind her back.

Once he leads them away, Clarke clears her throat, “That… that was fun. Tori was a great training partner.”

Lexa snaps out of her momentary haze, eyes becoming unreadable once again. “Aden and Tori are the most promising novitiates. They are better than I was at their age. Having you here was good for them, you can join anytime you’d like.”

“I definitely will,” Clarke smiles.

“Do you have some more time? The _Natblida_ have a personal healer, she can help with your injuries.”

Clarke raises a brow, “They’re just a few bruises, Lexa.”

She pins her with a gaze that has ‘this is not negotiable’ written all over it, so Clarke sighs, “Fine, but only because I want to learn more about the medicine here.”

Lexa nods, hiding a small smile as Clarke gathers her sword. She straps it to her hip and clicks her tongue to signal her cubs. They set out on a different path than the one Clarke used to arrive, and it leads them to a small hut.

The door is already open, and Lexa calls out “ _Fisa?_ ”

A woman in her late twenties appears at the door. She’s taller than both of them and has dirty blond hair swept back into one thick braid that flows over her left shoulder. Her eyes are a light green shade, and she has a bright smile plastered on her lips. There’s something chilling about her features… maybe it’s the high cheekbones or pointed nose, but Clarke shakes the feeling off. She shouldn’t judge based on appearances alone, and Lexa clearly trusts her.

“ _Heda_ , it is good to see you,” She says before turning to Clarke, “And the mighty _Wanheda_ , it’s an honour.”

It sounded sarcastic, and Clarke shifts her weight from foot to foot, settling on a nod and a forced smile.

“What can I do for you?”

“ _Wanheda_ needs someone to tend to her injuries, and she mentioned an interest in our healing methods. I thought I should bring her to you.”

_Mental note: explain to Lexa that a few bruises do not constitute a trip to a healer_

“It’s really just a couple bruises,” She says with a side-eyed glare that she hopes Lexa picks up on.

Lexa offers her a small smirk in return, “I must go, Clarke. I will see you later.”

 _Mental note #2: tell Lexa not to look at me like that because it does things to me that I’d rather not think about yet._

Clarke sends her another not-so-subtle scowl, “Yes, you will.”

Lexa nods at the healer, who Clarke still doesn’t have a name for, and takes her leave.

“Come in, _Wanheda_.”

“Thank you…?”

“Blair. _”_

“That’s a beautiful name,” Clarke compliments while looking at the interior of the hut. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, presumably for examinations, and a couple chairs beside a desk on one side. On the other, a huge cabinet sits in the corner of the room, along with a shelf full of herbs and salves. Her cubs start their usual ritual of sniffing every corner of the room, and the healer doesn’t seem to mind.

The woman curls her lips upwards, and Clarke still can’t put a finger on why she feels so uncomfortable.

“You can sit here, I will apply a salve onto your bruises so they heal faster.”

“Thank you. How long have you been the healer for the nightbloods?” Clarke asks as she plops onto the bed. She might as well get to know Blair. It could help her figure out the discomfort she’s going through, and hopefully get rid of it.

The healer rummages through the cabinet, finally pulling out a jar with a clear paste in it. “Three summers. I took over from my cousin.”

“It seems like a great job to have, I’ve spent some time with the nightbloods and they’re an amazing group of kids.”

Clarke watches as another smile creeps onto her features, “Yes, they are truly exceptional.”

She opens the jar and dips two of her fingers into it, moving to stand in front of Clarke as she applies the salve onto her still throbbing skin. It’s cold, and it provides her instant relief. She wonders what it consists of, making a third mental note to ask Lexa what clans make the medical supplies for the coalition.

“Better?” Blair questions, clearly having observed Clarke’s relief.

“Much better, thank you.”

“I will give you some to take with you, so you may apply it to others.”

“That would be great,” Clarke says, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. She can’t make sense of it, but her intuition is ringing all sorts of bells. It could just be her own paranoia and trust issues, but Rome and Remus seem to agree with her as they squeak by the door. They wouldn’t leave her, but it’s clear they don’t want to be here any longer.

Clarke hops off of the bed and joins her cubs. The healer pulls out a small jar and transfers some salve into it and hands it to her.

“I am sure we will see more of each other, _Wanheda_.”

_What the fuck does that even mean?_

Clarke restrains herself from sprinting in the opposite direction. She definitely hopes she won’t be seeing any more of her. “Um, well, thank you again. Bye”

As soon as she gets back to the _Natblida_ training grounds, she allows her expression to scrunch up, turning to look at her cubs, “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

Two peeps echo back to her and she nods at them. “I’m glad you two agree.”

The sun has begun its descent by the time Clarke sets out to find Anya, and she soon finds her finishing up her own sparring session.

Anya nods once she spots her _seken_ , “So, did you get beaten by a _goufa_?”

“If I did, then I let it happen,” Clarke quips before looking down at their cubs, “I was thinking that we should start weaning them off of their milk, and maybe we could start taking them on hunts, too.”

“They are growing quickly,” Anya says, and there’s a hint of regret in her tone. Rome sinks his claws in her boots, and she bends to pick up him.

Clarke smiles and does the same with Remus, “I know, I don’t want them to get any bigger either. Do you think they’ll leave us one day?”

“That is up to them,” Anya responds, but it’s clear that the words pain her.

Together, they trek back to the tower and leave each other to bathe in their respective rooms. It’s been a long day, and Clarke sighs when her beaten body slides into the hot water. She’s only been in Polis for six days, but it feels like much longer. Each day is packed with new experiences, new people and new _feelings_ , and she’s exhausted from the couple hours less sleep she got last night, courtesy to her nightmare.

During the time before dinner, she draws her vivid memories of the last days; of her mom pulling Anya into an awkward side-hug, the pure joy in Nik’s expression when he first pet Rome, Lexa mid-strike with her wooden staff as a light sheen of sweat covers her tanned skin (not that she was watching _that_ closely) and finally, she draws Tori and how she held her sword with her chest puffed out, eyes alight with awe.

She finds Anya after and sends a guard to get them the milk substitute and some strips of meat for their cubs. They cut the meat into small pieces and add it to the milk, forming a slush. It looks disgusting, but Rome and Remus seem excited as they curiously sniff the bowls before devouring the contents.

Clarke feels like a parent watching their children take their first steps, and to be honest, she and Anya do bicker like an old married couple. It’s overwhelming, to reflect on how far she has come since she first found them, they’ve played a big part in helping her heal.

After, she joins Lexa for dinner, and questioning her about the _Natblida_ healer is the first thing on her mind.

“So, Blair. What made you give her the job of doctor for the nightbloods?” Clarke asks, hoping she sounds casual.

Lexa lifts a brow, “Her family have always been the healers for the _Natblida_. Is something wrong? Did she do someth-”

“No, no, nothing like that. I was just curious. She seems… intense. I just got a weird feeling.”

“That is simply how she is. Her cousin, the previous healer, ended her own life. I believe they were quite close.”

Clarke sighs, feeling like a terrible person for her questions and doubt. She rarely judges people like that, but there was just _something_ about that woman, and apparently it was grief.

She moves on from the topic, “I was wondering, how old was Tori when she was brought to Polis?”

“I believe she was found in her fifth summer”

“And you were found when you were four?”

Lexa gives her a small nod, “Yes.”

Clarke snorts at the contrast between their cultures, “Well, when I was four, I believed Santa Claus survived the apocalypse and rode through space with his reindeer to give us presents once a year.”

“Santa Clos?” Lexa asks, a mixture of amusement and confusion colouring her tone.

“Claus. You don’t celebrate Christmas?”

“No. We have two official festivals each year, each lasting a week. But we have marked days to celebrate, like Ascension Day,” She tells her, “What is Krismas for?”

“Well- It’s for the birth of Jesus. He was an incarnation of the God of one of the major world religions from before. On the 24th of December you have a big dinner, and kids believe that Santa Claus, a big man with a white beard dressed in red, comes to deliver presents during the night,” Clarke realises just how ridiculous it sounds when Lexa’s brows furrow, “Usually, you’d have a Christmas tree to put them under, but we didn’t have trees. So we put a plate of cookies on a set table, and the presents would be there when you woke up.”

Lexa seems like she’s at a loss for words, and Clarke can’t help the laughter that bubbles through her throat.

“You can’t take it so seriously, it’s really just an elaborate lie that parents tell their kids until they figure out that it’s them that put the presents.”

At Clarke’s outburst, Lexa can’t help but smile along with her, “Why would they do that? It seems cruel, Clarke”

“I guess so, but it was so dull on the Ark, it brought a bit of magic into our lives. I was so sad when I found out he wasn’t real,” Clarke says, grinning when she continues with, “But that was _nothing_ compared to when I realised the Easter bunny was fake.”

“I thought you said there were no animals on the Ark?”

“No, but it’s like Santa Claus, except in April there’s a day where a rabbit comes up from the ground and hides chocolate eggs in our rooms for us to find.”

Lexa tilts her head back and laughs, and a warmth blooms in Clarke’s heart at the sound, “And you believed this?”

“I was four!” Clarke says in mock offense, “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe it until I was eleven. Even when I figured it out, my dad still hid the eggs every year, no matter how old I got.”

 _I’ll save the tooth fairy for another time_.

Lexa smiles at the image of an exasperated fifteen-year-old Clarke, trying to find where her dad put them all over her room against her wishes. “It sounds as though you had a good relationship with your father”

Clarke becomes lost in her memories for a few seconds until she refocuses on Lexa once more. She shakes herself out of her thoughts, but Lexa seemed to have taken her silence as a bad thing.

“I’m sorry, you do not have to-” Lexa says before Clarke cuts her off.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I think I’m in a place now where I can talk about him,” She reassures, “I always got along with him much easier than I did with my mom. He was like the glue that held us together”

“I see.” Lexa swallows, looking caught between voicing her next thoughts and keeping silent, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to him?”

Clarke’s heart clenches in her chest, “He found a problem with the Ark’s life support system. We only had three months of oxygen left and there was no way to fix it. He thought our people should know, so that we could work together and potentially find a solution, but the Council disagreed. They presumed it would cause a mass panic and riots.”

Lexa seems deep in thought, intensely focused on each word, “But then he told your people anyway?”

“He tried to, yes. He made a video explaining everything,” Clarke pauses when Lexa’s brows twitch together, “Oh- A video is.. You know how I can draw things on paper?”

Lexa nods, “Well, a video is like a drawing that can talk and move. He made one explaining everything, and he was going to show it to everyone..,” Clarke trails off, the next parts pricking at a scar that will always be tender, “I tried to convince him not to when I saw what he was doing, and I told him I could help, but then they arrested him right in front of me.”

“For what reason? He did not do anything yet.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, “Treason. Later… I found out it was my mom who told Jaha. She hoped he’d convince him to stop, but he floated him instead.”

“Floated?” Lexa asks, brows pulled together.

“Killed. Thrown into space and left to suffocate,” Clarke says in a quiet and melancholic tone.

“That is harsh.”

Clarke gives her a sad smile, “We’re not so different, are we?”

“It seems not,” Lexa agrees, “That is why we are working towards a better world, Clarke.”

“You really believe we can.. I don’t know, change how things are?”

“You mean reach a time where life is truly about more than just surviving?”

Clarke meets her gaze, a genuine smile tugging at her lips even as her cheeks heat up at the memory. She nods, and Lexa returns her smile, “Yes. You do not stop until you achieve what you want, and I…”

“You have much more patience and discipline than I do. I might be good at being an ambassador, but it takes a different strength to do what you do,” Clarke says, thinking of the pressure and responsibility that weigh on Lexa every second of every day. It’s why they have a full council to make decisions on the Ark, it’s a shared load for anyone that wants part in it. Lexa didn’t even have the _choice_. Even when Clarke was leading her people, she wasn't solely responsible for them, though it still felt like it. She continues with guilt colouring her tone, “I’d have run away”

Lexa purses her lips, "Maybe. We cannot know how each of us would have fared with different upbringings.”

The idea of Lexa as raised on the Ark makes Clarke wonder if she’d be a natural leader there too. Lexa is smart, but Clarke can’t help but wonder if she’d think with her heart, that she’d be on the shy and openly loving side. She still has those qualities now, but she can't let them show in anything other than subtle displays. 

“Have you ever thought of running away?” Clarke asks.

“Sometimes. I try not to think of such things.”

It makes sense, because why think of and become attached to an idea that could never happen? It would simply make her reality that much worse. Besides, it would come with guilt; Lexa isn’t supposed to have selfish desires.

“I get that."

They pause in comfortable silence for a few beats, each deep in thought.

“Did you reveal your father’s vid- vidyo after..?

Clarke drops her gaze and shakes her head, “I never got the chance. They didn’t just arrest my dad, they arrested me too. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so they couldn’t float me. I was put in solitary confinement instead.”

When Clarke looks up again, Lexa’s jaw is clenched, “You did not deserve such treatment. You were innocent, they should have spoken to you first”

“But isn’t it like when you wanted to kill Octavia for knowing about TonDC? She didn’t do anything, but she had information was a threat to you,” Clarke responds, and it’s not said in a bitter or malicious way, she’s simply comparing two similar situations.

Lexa appears a little stumped, and Clarke can practically see the internal debate she’s having with herself, “I suppose it is. Though I believe it is more extreme in your situation. Octavia had a good reason to remain quiet, while you had incentive to speak out”

They go back and forth on the topic, and Clarke can’t help but lose focus multiple times because of the combination of the candle and moonlight tinting Lexa’s already tanned skin into something ethereal. She looks like a goddess that was personally sculpted by the highest power in the cosmos, and _fuck,_ Clarke knows she’s in trouble. Is that a bad thing, though? She’s beginning to think it isn’t.

The knowledge that only her and a few others get to see Lexa as _Lexa_ adds to the growing heat in Clarke’s heart. The time she spent with Lexa this evening differed from any other. There was no undercurrent of worry, no talk of ambassadors or the Ice Nation or any other of the other threats out there. They’re simply Clarke and Lexa, two young girls learning each other's cultures and past.

Eventually, Clarke fears she might combust if she stays here any longer, and she’s stifling her yawns out of exhaustion. After the events of the previous night, it’s not surprising that she’s tired so early. When they exchange their goodnight wishes, Clarke catches a new twinkle in green depths, and it makes her look much more youthful.

Clarke turns back before she reaches the door, “Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke?”

“Thank you for listening, you know… About my dad, and stuff,” Clarke says, fiddling with her father’s watch.

Truthfully, this was the first time she talked about him without breaking down, and it felt _so_ good. He wouldn’t want to be a memory that brings her pain; he’d want her to remember those times where he hid Easter eggs even though she repeatedly told him she’s too old for it.

 _Come on, Clarke. Just let me have Easter, you’ll always be my little girl_.

“I should thank you for sharing. I enjoyed our conversation very much”

“Me too. Oh, and I’m making you and the nightbloods celebrate Christmas with me this year. We’ll go full out, with Santa hats… a Christmas tree and eggnog…”

Lexa raises her brows, and Clarke thinks the smile that spreads over her features is wider than she’s ever seen it, “Do I get a say in this matter?”

Clarke smirks, “Nope, it’s been decided.”

“I believe I will be meeting this Santa Clos, then,” Lexa quips in response, “I have since learned that when _Wanheda_ decides something, there is nothing to stop it from happening.”

She responds with a smug smile and turns to leave again, but not before calling back, "It's Claus!"

Once she returns to her quarters, she changes and brushes her teeth when she hears a scratching at her door. She opens it and finds Remus sitting there, letting out a small squeak. The guards remain stoic, but she can see the twitching on the corners of their mouths.

She lets him in and closes the door, falling into the furs and surrendering to the pull of sleep with her lips still tugged into a small smile, heart buzzing and warm and _light_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter so far, and wow there's a lot... the meeting with the ambassador, the nightbloods & their sketchy healer, and of course the clexa conversation at the end. Thank you for the continuous feedback on each chapter, your comments always give me some new ideas or tweaks that I add in, and it really enriches the story.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one!!


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